One Last Gasp
by secretaryofsillywalks
Summary: Harry is sent to an Alternate Universe where no one knows who he is. After an attack on Hogsmeade the Ministry and Order think he's a dangerous new Death Eater - Voldemort knows better and plans to find out who this scrawny kid is! What's a boy to do?
1. Acrid

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**A large portion of this chapter comes from Book 6, as you will see. This italicized word at the beginning of each chapter is the prompt word, from an alphabet challenge. That is all. Enjoy.**

**

* * *

**

_Acrid_

_a prologue _

_

* * *

_

"Water," croaked Dumbledore. His head lolled to the side, a whimper escaped his lips.

"Water," panted Harry. "Yes -"

In a daze, Harry leapt to his feet and seized the goblet he had dropped in the basin; he barely registered the golden locket lying curled beneath it.

"_Auguamenti_!" he shouted, jabbing the goblet with his wand.

The goblet filled with clear water; Harry dropped to his knees beside Dumbledore, raised his head, and brought the glass to his lips – but it was empty. Dumbledore groaned and began to pant.

"But I had some – wait – _Auguamenti_!" Harry said again, but no matter how many times he refilled the goblet, the water would vanish before it reached Dumbledore's mouth.

His brain whirling in panic, Harry knew the only way left to get water - the lake - because Voldemort had planned it so…

He flung himself over the edge of the rock and plunged the goblet into the lake, bringing it up full to the brim of icy water that did not vanish.

"Sir – here!" Harry yelled, and lunging forward, he tipped the water clumsily over Dumbledore's face.

It was the best he could do, for the icy feeling on his arm not holding the cup was not the lingering chill of the water. A slimy white hand gripped his wrist, and the creature to which it belonged to was pulling him backward across the rock.

Harry looked across the churning lake surface, white heads and hands were emerging from the dark water, moving toward the rock: an army of the dead rising from the black water.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" yelled Harry, struggling to cling to the smooth, soaked surface of the island as he pointed his wand at the Inferius that had his arm. It released him, falling backward into the water with a splash; he scrambled to his feet, but many more Inferi were already climbing onto the rock, their bony hands clawing at its slippery surface, their black, frosted eyes upon him.

"_Petrificu Totalus_!" Harry bellowed again, backing away as he swiped his wand through the air, six or seven of them crumpled, but more were coming toward him. _"Impedimenta! Incarcerous_!"

A few of them stumbled, one or two of them bound in ropes, but those climbing onto the rock behind them merely stepped over or on the fallen bodies. Still slashing at the air with his wand, Harry yelled, "_Sectumsempra! SECTUMSEMPRA_!"

Though gashes appeared in their sodden rags and on their icy skin, they had no blood to spill. They walked on, unfeeling, their shrunken hands outstretched toward him. As he backed away still farther, he felt arms enclose him from behind. They were thin, fleshless arms cold as death holding him.

His feet left the ground as they lifted him and began to carry him, slowly and surely, back to the water. He knew there would be no release, that he would be drowned, and become one more dead guardian of a fragment of Voldemort's shattered soul…

But then, through the darkness, fire erupted: crimson and gold, a ring of fire that surrounded the rock so that the Inferi holding Harry stumbled and faltered. They dropped Harry; he scrambled back up, ignoring his bleeding elbow, and raised his wand, staring around.

Dumbledore was on his feet again, pale as any of the surrounding Inferi, the fire dancing in his eyes. His wand was raised like a torch and from its tip emanated the flames, like a vast lasso, encircling them all with warmth.

Dumbledore scooped the locket from the bottom of the stone basin and stowed it inside his robes. Wordlessly, he gestured to Harry to come to his side.

Harry made to move towards Dumbledore but the Inferi, bumping into each other as they attempted to escape the fire jostled Harry about and made it impossible to get to the elder wizard.

Another Inferius slammed into Harry, making him lose his footing on the slippery rock. Harry thought he saw a flash of panic in Dumbledore's eyes as he began to fall backwards, wildly waving his arms until he grabbed hold of and Inferius with his free hand pulling it with him as he tumbled through the ring of fire.

An unearthly scream erupted from the Inferius, who had caught fire and was emitting a foul smell, which burned Harry's nose. They plunged into the dark lake, extinguishing the flaming Inferius, before bobbing to the surface. Harry quickly let go of the Inferius and tried to climb back onto the rock, but , the waters, which had stilled slightly at the light and warmth emanating from the island, began to churn once more as the sightless creatures began to grab Harry with their bony hands and, slowly, pull him under the icy currents of the water.

Harry thrashed about, panicked, trying to escape the foul creatures. They pulled him deeper into the chilly darkness. He tried to stun them, but the cold that pierced through his body, the aching and tremors in his muscles, and the water that flooded his mouth and choked him as he tried to speak, kept him from doing so.

White spots were dotting his field of vision and he found it harder, more tiring, to move.

Harry began to struggle less and less, his head pounding and his vision going grey from lack of oxygen, until he struggled and fought no more.

Harry was aware of a bright light, so bright that he could see it with his eyes closed, and the warmth surrounding him. He thought he even heard a phoenix song…. He felt as he did when was outside during his summers at the Dursleys, the sun beating down on him as he laid in the garden, listening to the news.

Harry knew there were no Dursleys though. This place was infinitely more peaceful and relaxing than his summer home.

"Time to get up Harry," a familiar voice said as a large hand gently shook his shoulder. Harry squeezed his eyes shut even more than they had been, causing his nose and brow to wrinkle. He did not want to get up.

"Harry,"

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the light. He looked up, he realized he was lying on the ground, and saw dark two blurry figures, silhouettes against the blinding white light, standing above him and one crouched down next to him.

"Good morning, Harry," said the voice, amused.

"Sirius?" Harry asked, raising his hand to shield his eyes. He peered at the dark figure.

It nodded, his outline becoming sharper, more detailed , "Who else?" the corner of Sirius's mouth twitched upward.

"I – where am I? Am I – am I dead?" asked Harry, shock coloring his voice.

Sirius looked towards the other figures, silently communicating with slight nods and quirked eyebrows, before looking at Harry once more. "That depends …"

"On what?"

"On you."

" I…that's very vague…" Sirius chuckled. Harry looked towards the remaining two shadows. "Who are they?" The figures moved slightly; it was almost as if they were waiting anxiously.

"Your parents," Sirius gestured at them to come closer.

They moved with an eerie grace, seeming to slide towards Harry. The woman kneeled down next to Harry, who had sat upright, and placed a warm hand on his cheek, smiling sadly. Yes, it was his mother, a woman he'd only seen in pictures and mirrors. His father, who Snape always said he was just as arrogant and troublesome as, stood behind her, looking at Harry the way a father often looks at his son – with inexplicable pride.

Harry gulped and looked away. This was all too much…

Harry looked back at Sirius, who was watching Harry thoughtfully, "What did you mean before? About it depending on me?"

"You have a choice Harry. We don't know why – once again you're defying all logical explanations – but you're still tethered to life. You can choose to move on or you may go back to where you were."

"Where is…where is on? Here?" He looked around. It wasn't what he had expected.

Sirius let out a bark of laughter that echoed through the empty space, "No, this is merely a…meeting-place of sorts. A checkpoint - if you will – before going beyond."

"On, Harry," began his Father, "On is…it is home – that is the best I can describe it."

Harry sat, pondering his options. He felt safe here, with the family he had always wanted, with his godfather. Home, his father said On was home; Harry would be going home. Could he really leave the world behind, his friends and adoptive family, leave them without a savior; leave them to struggle alone against the darkest wizard in history?

"I – I can't leave them…. not yet….I have a job to do…" Harry choked back a sob.

Lily hugged him, "Then you will go back,"

"I don't -"

"We can wait Harry, we have all the time in the world. You must do what you feel is right," she let go of Harry, wiped his tears away.

Harry let out a quivering sigh, "I should – I need to – go back. But I want to go home….Send me back."

"You wish to return?" Lily asked

"Yes, I have to defeat Voldemort; I'm the only one who can. I can't leave them with…with my burden."

A watery smile crept onto James' face, "We're proud of you Harry, you're a brave man, taking all of this on, fighting for those you love. We couldn't have asked for a better son…"

"I'll see you again?"

James nodded, "Goodbye, Harry. Kick snake-face's ass for us, okay?"

Harry smiled slightly as Lily glared at James, who shrugged unapologetically, and Sirius, who snickered behind his hand.

"Goodbye."

**

* * *

Please review!  
**


	2. Bones

Updated 5/12

* * *

_Bones_

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open.

He sat up quickly and retched where he lay, coughing up blood and water and bile. He gave a deep shuddering gasp, choking on the spit that hung from his mouth and stuck to his chin, and lay back down.

It was dark, the moon and stars covered by a thick layer of silver clouds, and humid. His shirt clung to his thin frame. A bead of sweat rolled down his pale, sickly skin, stretched tight over his bones. He felt as if he had just escaped a year long sentence in Azkaban. He let his eyes flutter shut. His lungs ached from the icy cold of the black waters, each breath felt like a thousand burning pokers stabbing his flesh. His joints were stiff and weary, swollen and painful to move. He forced his eyes open, knowing that if he slept he might not wake.

He thought he heard a phoenix singing in the distance but knew that it was highly unlikely. He was imagining things, just as he imagined meeting his long dead parents and Sirius. He must have gone into shock while he was in the cave; he was delirious from the cold. He couldn't even remember how he had gotten here. Dumbledore must have taken him, rescued him. Unless he really had died and talked to his family.

A noise caused Harry's eyes to yank open once again. He did not remember closing them again. He strained his eyes as he peered into the darkness, listening carefully. A movement, someone snapping twigs as they walked, to his right caught his attention. He summoned all his energy and turned his head towards the noise. What he saw made his stomach plummet.

He was surrounded by dozens of men in dark gray cloaks; their faces were obscured by their hoods. His heart beat in his throat. Eyes trained on the wizards, who were most likely Death Eaters, he pushed himself off the ground. The earth seemed to tilt as he stood, sending him stumbling back onto the muddy ground. He tried to stand again, this time the earth did not move, but his body groaned in protest. He wobbled slightly. His limbs were like lead weights and his head spinning too much for him to see straight. He felt his stomach roll and forced himself to swallow back the bile the attempted to escape from his throat. His breathing was already heavy; each gasp for air felt as if a vice was gripped around his chest squeezing his lungs like a sponge. Harry, slightly crouched, slowly moved his hand into his pocket and grabbed his wand.

An eerie quiet settled over the lands as the men observed Harry, whose own eyes were flitting about, observing. He took in his surroundings quickly before resting on the wizards again, only to resume his observations. They were in a graveyard of sorts, with old half broken headstones leaning and slanted. The image of the graveyard at Little Hangleton danced to the front of his mind and his breath quickened.

There was an expansive forest to his right and a large, stone church covered in ivy, on his left. Though it was hard to tell with the way his sight was causing things to spin.

He needed to get back to Hogwarts, quickly. He had made a promise to Dumbledore; he had to keep it. Harry knew, in that moment, that he would do whatever it took to get back to Hogwarts.

Harry knew his only chance of getting out of here, and from the wizards, who were closing in on him, was through the forest. Harry took as deep a breath as he could, steeling his nerves.

One. He tightened his grip on his wand.

Two. He turned his body slightly, preparing to run.

Three. He sprinted towards the cloaked wizards, praying his charge would take them unprepared. His legs protested, but Harry ignored the burning. He had to escape.

"STUPEFY! STUPEFY! STUPEFY!" Harry rasped. He heard several cracking noises – apparation - before a volley of stunning spells was returned on him. He barely managed to avoid one, jumping out of the way just in time.

He slipped and fell in the mud, and scrambled to return to his feet, sending a cutting hex toward a nearby Death Eater.

The Death Eater hurled a sickly colored hex back at Harry, who wondered if he would make it out of this mess alive. It seemed Voldemort had gained some new, clever and resistant minions. He dove behind one of the tall grey-clad wizards, who was promptly hit by a stunning spell and fell forward with a loud thump. Harry dove behind a pale tombstone, well aware that adrenaline was the only thing keeping him standing.

Crouched behind the fat pale cross, he turned and jabbed his wand at his opponents, "STUPEFY! EXPELLIARMUS! STUPEFY! EXPULSO! IMPEDIMENTA!" Curses were flying, criss-crossing, some meeting each other with an explosive crack, creating a symphony of crackling colors thrumming through the air.

Harry stood to make a run to the edge of the forest. He turned and barreled head-first into the stone hard chest of a Death Eater. His nose dripping blood, Harry toppled to the feet of the wizard, head spinning. Staring at the man's brick-like shoes, Harry realized several things. The first was that what he thought was a wizard was an exceptionally tall, shiny gravestone. The second was that his glasses were not perched on his nose.

He crawled along the muddy land. Harry thought it was rather odd that the jets of light were no longer aimed at him but was thankful nonetheless, cautiously feeling the muddy ground for his glasses. Perhaps Aurors had finally arrived. Harry groped aimlessly in the mud, cursing and occasionally firing a red stunner from behind the safety of gravestones. He felt the cool metal of his glasses against his fingers and triumphantly placed them back onto his nose. He attempted to wipe the thick black muck from the lenses, but only succeeded in smearing it around. They sat crookedly on his face – he would have to have Hermione fix that later – but were not broken.

Harry turned to throw yet another barrage of spells at the dark clad wizards over a tall angelic marker and gaped at the sight before him. There were no wizards to be seen. In their place stood dozens of dark, tall gravestones, seven feet high, many with scorch marks and one that was sporting a rather large gash, and another that had fallen forward, arranged in a semi-circle.

Harry watched as several curses ricocheted of off a stone and hit another before they dissipated.

Harry glanced around, his stomach still reeling from the fight – if it had even truly been a fight. He could have sworn…Feeling exceptionally foolish, Harry stood and pocketed his wand. It must have been the sickness that made him see things, just like it had made him see his parents and godfather. It had to be.

He inched forward to get a closer look at the stones, still peering suspiciously over his shoulder. The peaked tops of each stone were embellished with an intricate cross below which there was an engraved list of names. Harry traced the names with his fingers. He didn't recognize any of them, though a few last names– Belby, Cadwallader, Harper – looked familiar.

Harry turned and looked at the stone he had run into. It was by far the biggest, a giant shiny domed tablet, eight feet tall and four wide, with an ornate phoenix carved at the top. The phoenix's tail feathers trailed down the side of the tablet, turning into flames near the base.

He stood with his bloody nose inches from the stone, on tip-toes, so he could read the inscription that was scrawled under the giant bird.

Dedicated to those who lost their lives in the greatest struggle known to wizarding kind.

In honor of those who died at the hand of the darkest wizard the world has ever see.

It was a war memorial, he realized with a start, to those who had died fighting some Dark Wizard, either Grindelwald or Voldemort – he could not tell. He felt guilt welling in his stomach. If he had enough energy he would repair them, but he could feel the adrenaline wearing off and his body beginning to ache again.

He shook his head, now was not the time to be feeling guilty. He had to see if Dumbledore was okay – tell Dumbledore that he was okay, seemingly back from the dead.

The church bell rung, making Harry very nearly jump out of his skin. It was, according to the bells, three in the morning. It was late, or early depending on how you look at it. Either way, Harry had a feeling that Madame Rosmerta would not appreciate his intrusion at such a time.

Harry staggered out of the maze of memorial stones, headed toward the forest.

* * *

In the belfry a figure crouched, hidden in the shadows, watching a thin broken boy stagger away from the memorial stones.

He had been having a rather rough day. The looming threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, especially after his recent attack on the ministry, was creating unpleasant business conditions. The recent loss of his… no, he couldn't bare to think of it. It still had him reeling – the losses, the losses were always unexpected and brutal. Death did not spare anyone, especially not in war.

He waved goodbye to his coworkers and set out on his way home. Diagon Alley was a shell of its former self. Shops were boarded up and only a few witches and wizards dared to walk the streets. Wanted and missing posters plastered the walls. Occasionally he would see a face staring down at him that he knew. That was always hard, knowing that a friend, an old classmate, a distant relative, was either dead, missing, or on the run. Many said those were all the same thing. He was inclined to agree. It was these posters he was looking at when he noticed it. A cloaked figure watching him from across the road. It unsettled him but he gave no sign that he noticed the dark hunched figure. He sulked down the pavement, slowly winding his way through the abandoned shops – some of which boasted signs of new businesses to come – toward Knockturn Alley. Whoever it was followed him, the first, and last, mistake.

He smiled to himself and hummed a song. The song had long ago, before he was born, become the anthem for the resistance efforts.

"Evening, Sir," he said. The Death Eater made no sound. "You can come out now, stop lurking about in the shadows."

The Death Eater stepped out of the shadow of an alleyway, his dark cloak whipping at his feet. The moonlight made the pale white mask look like bone. Dark eyes stared back at him.

"Did you see anything worthwhile today?" The Death Eater remained silent. "That's what I thought," he said quietly, moving closer to the tall, still figure. He wondered who it was, not many were taller than him, but the Death Eater made him look like a dwarf. "You never do find anything do you? Yet you continue to follow and harass my family."

"I've seen plenty," the voice was deep and had an unpleasant edge to it, "enough to know you're traitors."

"Yes, well, about that," He lurched forward suddenly; knowing muggle fighting would easily disarm the poor bastard. He kicked out the Death Eaters feet and slammed the fools head forward, against an iron cauldron. The elegant mask cracked in half and fell the ground, but he didn't care to look at the face of the monster it had concealed. He grabbed a handful of blonde hair and growled into his ear, "You leave us alone," before he made that stout little iron cauldron a hat for the Death Eater.

The tall man slumped against the ground, his hands struggling to remove the pot from his head. The commotion drew the attention of several shopkeepers – Madams peeped through their dirty lace curtains before quickly withdrawing. He spun on the spot, knowing that more would come after him. News travelled fast these days. They would be here in moments, possibly even his own home. He apparated to the first safe place he could think of: Ottery St. Catchpole Church.

He hid in Otter Forrest until he was sure that none of the Death Eaters had managed to follow him. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, against the cold air.

When he was sure it was safe, he moved out of the forest, head down, giving vicious kicks to the branches that lay in his way. His head jerked up when he heard a strangled gasp.

A disheveled and bone-thin boy was sitting in the middle of the Memorial, observing the things around him. He wondered what a boy was doing here at this time and decided that he had probably fell asleep at the edge of a tablet , something he often did himself.

He was startled when the boy started flinging hexes and curses at the stones. Maybe he was wrong, he had not fallen asleep. The boy was a vandal, a sympathizer, who, for a moment, thought he had been caught.

He clenched his jaw and felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He would show that boy what happens to those who disgraced the dead. He never got a chance to, unfortunately; the boy ran headfirst into the Dedication Stone and knocked himself out.

He approached cautiously, wand clutched tightly in his hand, and peered down at the boy who was sprawled across the ground. He nudged him with his foot and received a slight groan in response. The boy wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He was young, though not too young to carry the mark. He didn't bother to check the boy's arm. They had ways of covering the ugly tattoo now days. If anything the boy had the look of a deserted. He knew if that were the case the boy wouldn't be alive much longer. The Death Eaters took care of their own. He toyed with the idea of tying the boy up, but decided against it. The boy looked like a corpse. He was pale, dark circles under his eyes, and clammy pale green-tinged skin pulled tightly over his bones, leaving hollow cheeks and sharp angles in his face. He wouldn't last long at all, either the Death Eaters would get him or the elements.

He grunted – damn vandal deserved it - and walked into the church. As he was standing in the doorway he heard the boy begin to move again. He cursed silently and walked up the four dozen steps that led to the bells. While walking up the steps he could hear several more curses hitting the stones. He sneered, seems the boy was nothing more than a vandal. He reached the bells and continued to watch the boy, taking notes of the little monster so he could file a report with the Aurors.

The boy, mud-covered glasses now on his face, stared intently at the stones, tracing the names on them, as if he had never seen them before, for an hour. He furrowed his brow when he heard the boy muttering as he made his way to the forest edge.

"Hogsmeade ….Dumbledore….dead…late…."

His heart stopped. A vandal would not...He had to alert the Order. Now. A possible Death Eater, still active, or deserted, it did not matter. The boy knew something. He was beginning to wish he had just tied the stupid boy up.

* * *

Harry, still oblivious to his observer, sincerely hoped that he would be able to apparate this tired and worn without splinching himself.

He visualized The Three Broomsticks and, with a loud crack, felt as if he was squeezed through a tube. The feeling ended after only a second.

Harry stood at the door of the restaurant, ankle deep in snow. He looked around, surprise etched onto his features. Had he really been gone that long? When he had left to go to the cave with Dumbledore it had nearly been summer time. His thoughts were interrupted when a young woman opened the door, nearly hitting Harry with it.

"Watch it!" He snapped, his agitation finally getting to him, as he jumped out of the way. He stumbled slightly; his head and nose throbbed viciously.

The woman looked at him suspiciously. She was definitely not Madame Rosmerta, maybe she had retired – or worse. Harry silently berated himself for thinking such negative thoughts. He let out a hacking cough so great that he had to hunch over, holding the frame of the door to keep himself standing. His throat was raw, his bones weary, and his breathe coming in shorter and shorter increments.

The woman watched him, cringing, before she finally spoke, "What are you doing here at this time? You could get yourself killed, you know!" she said in a harsh whisper.

"I- sorry," Harry smiled as much as his aching face would allow and pushed himself upright once more, "I was on my way back to Hogwarts and -" He stopped speaking as he saw the woman's face drain of all color. "Is something wrong?"

"Hogwarts you said?" she asked emotionlessly. She narrowed her eyes, "You don't look like any student I know…"

"I am!" He choked out, "Ask Madame Rosmerta, she was here when we left. I swear it."

"We?" The woman asked with eyes wide as Harry lapsed into another coughing fit.

"I went with Professor Dumbledore -"

"SH!" the woman grabbed Harry by his elbow and pulled him into the tavern. "Don't go speaking that name out loud like that. Someone might overhear you." She pushed him roughly down into a chair, "Don't move from that seat. I'll be right back."

Harry fidgeted as he watched the woman disappeared into a back room, wondering what on earth was going on. He coughed once more, and belched up stale, cold water.

Madame Plumata was anxiously pacing in the back room, unsure of what to do with the coughing boy that was currently sitting at a table. She straightened her shoulders as she decided to fire-call Dumbledore. The boy wouldn't be able to take her unaware, at least she hoped not. Not with that cough.

Only seconds earlier had a bear-shaped patronus, speaking in that familiar baritone voice, woken her from her sleep. She suspected several other shop owners and the Hogwarts staff had received the same message.

She remembered the message quite clearly: Watch for boy – green eyes, black hair - suspected D.E on mission to kill Dumbledore.

Then there he was standing in front of her tavern, looking like the long lost son of James Potter. She was practically shaking in her boots as she spoke to him. He seemed perfectly normal, unassuming. He seemed a little confused and looked ill. His cough frightened her beyond belief. She thought he was going to cough up his lungs and die right there in the snow. He looked like a young boy, underfed, not some boy who was murder the greatest wizard of all time. Acting would have to be one of his skills then – giving him the ability to blend into any scene, seem innocent. Mad Eye Moody had always told her that the unassuming ones were the ones you needed to watch out for. They were the most dangerous.

She wondered if he had volunteered to join the Death Eaters, or if he had been tricked or black-mailed into it. She had no time to worry about that now, she told herself, willing her mind to get rid of the traitorous thoughts. She threw a handful of green powder into the fireplace and whispered "Dumbledore's Office" into the green flames.

"Madame Plumata, to what do I owe this pleasant surprise?" Albus asked as he approached his fireplace, his eyes twinkling.

She could see several of the teachers leaving behind him. "He's here."

They stopped, shoulders stiff.

Albus frowned, "So soon…"

"Should I – should I keep him here until the Order arrives?" She wrung her hands anxiously.

Minerva made a face, "Are you mad, Plumata? He's a … you know what! Sent to kill, no less, and you want to keep him in your tavern – where you, a muggleborn, are alone?"

"He's sick, and brittle. The poor thing looks like he's about to snap in half not slit my throat," she cried out.

"He's acting."

She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Albus, "I think it is a fine idea, the best we can do on such short notice. The Order will be arriving soon – Ah! Here's Kingsley now! - until then!" He said, a bit too jovially for the occasion thought Plumata.

"Yes, yes. Until then," she said as she pulled her head out of the fire. She smoothed back her hair and straightened her apron. She took several deep breaths before she pushed open the door and went to take a murderer's – no, he was just a boy! - order.

* * *

**Reviews are cool**


	3. Cream

Updated 5/12

* * *

_Cream_

* * *

Harry was beginning to wonder what was taking the land-lady so long. He looked out the window, losing himself in thought.

He jumped when he heard a throat clear behind him. He turned toward the noise, wand drawn. He quickly put it away when he saw it was only the Land lady, who had turned a deathly pale shade of white.

"Sorry, I'm a bit er… jumpy" he smiled sheepishly. He made a point to display his now empty hands on the table. He watched the tension leaver her shoulders and a smile emerge on her face. Only her eyes betrayed the fear she felt.

"I-yes- I'm Madame Plumata. I just fire-called Hogwarts…they're going to be sending down someone to get you. Until then, what can I do for you?" she pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil.

Harry's eyes settled on the muggle paper and pencil, was she a muggleborn? "Good, good."

Madame Plumata shuffled nervously, "Sir? What can I get you?"

Harry, who hadn't missed the slight waiver in her voice, spoke softly, "Um…I'd like…I'd like a cup of tea actually, with cream. And-and the newspaper, if that's all right?"

"Of course it is, dear," she smiled slightly as she produced a rolled up paper from her pocket and placed on the table, "I'll be right back with your tea."

* * *

"Now that you've all arrived," Albus began, "We've got some planning to do!" he clapped his hands once in excitement, as if he was planning a surprise birthday party.

"Planning! Prof-Albus, you can't be serious – If you make that stupid jokes I will hex your man-bits off -"

"Ha – man bi- "Sirius halted mid guffaw at Lily's sharp look and wisely closed his mouth.

James continue talking, with eyes still narrowed at his closest friend, "We know where the boy is at, what his plan is, sort of, so why can't we just go and get him?" He sent an inquisitive look toward Albus.

"I think Prof - sorry, Albus – is right; we need a plan, just in case something unexpected comes up," said Percy Weasley. He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose and stared defiantly at James.

James looked around, most of the Order was nodding their agreement; he sat down, defeated, and asked "What do you suggest we do then?"

"We could send someone to get him. They could bring him back to Hogwarts, stun him and bind him before he got into the building. That way we would be able to question him," Emmeline Vance said slowly.

"That's too dangerous. If they sent only him to kill Albus then he must be exceptionally talented," countered Benjy Fenwick, "We want him away from Hogwarts- where he can't harm any children or the headmaster."

"Yes, good point Benjy. We need to corral him…" said Remus, as he leaned his head against the window. He seemed to get lost in thought.

George or Fred - Sirius could never tell them apart – removed the Maurauder's Map from his robe pocket, "We can use this to see if he's entered the castle -"

"Where did you get that from?" asked a bemused Sirius. He tried, unsuccessfully, to pluck it from the twin's hand.

"Nicked it from Filch in first year," answered the twins, one of which gave him a long calculating look.

"And this -" Bill, yet another Weasley, said, ignoring Sirius's interruption, as he laid a scroll down on Albus's desk, "-to help us…plan."

Albus took the scroll and delicately unrolled it, it was a map of Hogsmeade, "Ah, stealing maps from the ministry again, William?"

Bill smirked, "No sir, I always carry maps of Hogsmeade and other important places around. You know, just in case a situation like this ever arises."

"Of course," the Headmaster's eyes twinkled with amusement. He settled back into his chair, his face lost behind the parchment.

Mad-Eye Moody bent over Albus's shoulder, "A team should enter here, here, and here," he pointed a gnarled finger to several entrances, "that would be five people a team, with another five plus the teachers guarding the castle – you boy's make sure you have all passages in and out of this castle covered," he added, looking to Fred and George with his magical eye.

"Who will the teams be?" asked Tonks.

Mad-Eye grunted, "Red team will be -"

"An explosion in Hogsmeade!" Remus shouted as he jumped up from his position at the window and pointing towards a sinister tower of thick black plumes in the distance.

"Remus, go with James, Tonks, Emmeline, and Kingsley to entrance two ; Black, Edgar, Fabian, Gideon and Lily – entrance one ; Doge, Dorcas,Arthur, Sturgis – come with me; Caradoc, Fenwick, Marlene, – help the twins here! Everyone else…alert the ministry then just find a place and don't get killed," barked Mad-Eye while Albus created several illegal portkeys. People around him moved quickly to their assigned groups before grabbing one of the knit socks that would take them to their designated destination.

* * *

Harry sipped his tea as he flipped open the most recent copy of The Daily Prophet. He sputtered as he read the front page:

_Wizengamot Passes Werewolf Regulation Acts_

_After a recent increase in the number of savage werewolf attacks leading to the deaths of innocent children (see page 3) and a rapid influx of new and unstable werewolves, the Ministry came up with a plan to help control the violent population and protect common Witches and Wizards._

_Yesterday evening, December the 16, the Wizengamot voted in favor of several anti-werewolf acts including the Werewolf Domestic Relationship Act, which allows the Ministry to ban all werewolves from obtaining marriage licenses and void any current marriages (for more information turn to page 5 column 2); the Dangerous Offender Laws, which enables the Ministry to place any Werewolf seen attacking or turning a Witch or Wizard in Azkaban without trial (for more information turn to page 5 column 4); and the biggest and most well received act, the Werewolf of London Laws._

_The London Laws allow the separation of halfbreed and wizarding kind under the notion of "Separate but Equal". The ministry feels that this separation will help lessen attacks. In conjunction with this idea, the ministry promises to create a "werewolf school" and "werewolf transportation system". The Laws would also require all Werewolves to wear identifying patches on their clothing at all time. Failure to follow these laws will result in a fine and imprisonment (story continues on page C2)_

Harry clenched his hand, crinkling the paper, and stared at the photo of a growling, blood-covered werewolf. He felt bile rise in his throat – how could they do such a thing? Separating them, making them wear patches to identify them, taking away their civil rights? For a split second Harry wondered how Remus and Greyback were taking this news before pushing the thought out of his head as he resumed scanning the paper.

To the side of the Werewolf article was an article entitled "Boy-Who-Lived's Love Triangle". Harry bit back an angry outburst, but as he read the article he found himself more and more confused. Where did they get this gossip from? He never… Harry snarled when he saw it was written by Rita Skitter – it made sense that she'd say this of course.

Ignoring his previous befuddlement, Harry read an announcement that stated an unusually large donation was given to the Longbottom Memorial Fund by an anonymous donor. Harry hadn't realized there was a memorial fund, though he hadn't realized many things about the Longbottom family. He found it good generous act none the less.

"They're here…" said Madame Plumata faintly.

Harry folded his paper, and finished his tea in a single gulp. He could hear footsteps outside.

"It's about time."

As he stood a blast shattered the store windows, sending shards of glass, and Harry, flying through the dusty air.

He picked himself up, coughing. "What the hell," he muttered darkly as he looked out the broken window.

Madame Plumata let out a strangled gasp and Harry turned to look at her. She stared at him, her face gouged and bleeding, wide-eyed and fearful as the store across the street – Zonkos – went up in flames.

* * *

"Merlin, Rosier, get out of my way!" growled Antonin Dolohov as he tripped over Evan Rosier and became twisted the other man's cloak.

Evan readjusted his mask, which had fallen sideways during the commotion and pulled his cloak back towards him.

"Watch where you're walking Dolohov!" he snarled at the older man.

"Knock it off you two! What are you, a bunch of six year old mudbloods?" hissed Malfoy as he pulled his hood over his white-blond hair, "You're going to make us miss the signal-"

"If you dunderheads don't quiet down you're all going to get us caught," Yaxley whispered franticly. Evan could see the man's wide yellowed eyes swiveling quickly behind his mask.

Dolohov glared at Evan; he retaliated by elbowing him sharply in the ribs before huddling in the shadows of the alleyway.

"Stop breathing in my ear, Malfoy!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and muttered something about inbreeding in the Yaxley family.

"I heard that you poncy git," grumbled Yaxley through clenched teeth. He half turned toward Malfoy, jabbing his wand threateningly, "If you -"

A red spark flew into the air, "That's the signal," said Evan, relieved, "Let's get a move on boys."

The four men slinked towards their target. Evan watched as Shunpike cast _Confringo_ at the Three Broomstick's giant window. He watched it shatter before he turned back to his job, Zonkos, briefly wondering how long it would burn for before he sent it up in flames with a flick of his wand.

He spun quickly on his heal as someone behind him yelped.

"Get off me -" The boyish voice was muffled as the Land Lady of the Three Broomsticks – Madame Plumata, he remembered – covered the person's mouth with her hand. A table and chair were overturned and he could see someone in a black cloak struggling underneath her. Evan sighed, something like this – death by strangulation - would only happen to a new recruit.

He calmly walked across the road, glass crunching beneath his feet, flames at his back, and into the tavern.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" he yelled. The sickly green curse struck the woman, who fell limp, eyes frosty, off of the struggling recruit. "Get up and finish your job! The Auror's will be here any minute!" he snapped; he had no patience for unskilled men in the ranks.

The boy gapped at him, his green eyes wide, "You killed her!"

"Really?" Evan asked sarcastically.

The boy glared at him. Evan rolled his eyes, "I saved you!" he said indignantly.

The boy staggered to his feet, blood was dripping out of his broken nose. Evan grumbled silently to himself, "Come here -" he stepped closer to the boy, who stepped back, before pulling him closer and raising his wand, "She got you good, eh? Broken- it looks - Hold still – ouch! - _Episkey_."

The boy delicately felt his nose, looking more than slightly confused, while Evan rubbed his shin.

"It all burns, you know the orders – where's your mask at?" Evan drank in the boy's appearance. He didn't recognize him – he wasn't one of his recruits. He'd never recruit someone so frail and disheveled. Or who looked so disgustingly like the blood-traitor Potter. Perhaps he had been brought in by someone else. "Keeping the mask on would have saved you that broken nose -"

"_EXPELLIARMUS_!" shouted the boy.

Evan barely managed to keep a hold on his wand. He turned and snarled at the boy, who was now standing defiantly, chin raised, "What the fuck is your problem -"

Malfoy ran by yelling the order for retreat, his blond hair flowing comically behind him. The Aurors were here.

Evan cleared his throat and looked at the boy, "You heard Malfoy – we can handle that little…episode…later."

The boy, it seemed, had no plans to apparate back to headquarters. He darted past Evan, who turned and bolted after him, towards the incoming Aurors, screaming for help. Evan wanted to bang his head repeatedly against the table; the boy was suicidal!

"The Dark Lord will punish you for this!" he panted.

The boy sent a stunning spell over his shoulder, "Screw you! Do you know who I am?"

"NO!" was all Evan could say.

The boy barely managed to dodge a stunning spell sent his way, reflexively sending a hex towards the attacker. The boy's face fell in horror as he watched an Auror's body jerk and spurt blood everywhere, covering the three Aurors around the man.

Evan realized that this must be the crazy boy's first raid, and he now wanted out. The Dark Lord would not like that. It was a shame to waste such talent, that spell he hit the Auror with was quiet impressive. He'd only seen things like that in the darkest of family tomes.

Evan grabbed the boy by the crook of his elbow. The boy twisted and slammed his left fist into his jaw. Evan, startled by the muggle-style attack, nearly lost his balance. He grabbed the struggling boy forcefully by his shoulders and apparated away with a loud crack.

* * *

Pure panic.

From the moment Plumata had punched him in the nose that was all Harry had felt. That was what he felt now as he felt himself being squeezed through a tube.

Harry and the man – a Death Eater - landed, wrestling, in an entry hall with a loud bang. Several Death Eaters looked at the two wizards wrestling on the floor with great interest while others merely rolled their eyes.

Harry shoved his palm into the bigger man's eye. The man howled in pain before grabbing Harry by his hair and smashing his face against a table. Harry spat a mouthful of blood at the man. He twisted his body, trying to escape. As the man's grip loosened Harry managed to put distance between them. He still wouldn't let go. Harry gave a forceful kick, hitting the man in the hip. Cursing, the man let Harry go.

He stood and turned to run away, but the man had grabbed him by the ankle. Harry fell back to the ground. The man began to pull Harry towards him. Harry rolled onto his back and yelled "_Auguamenti_!" sending a stream of water into the man's face.

As the man sputtered and choked on the ground, Harry stood, white-faced, and looked at the snickering Death Eaters, who made no move to attack him.

"Nice one squirt – I never thought of using _Auguamenti_ like that."

"Wicked kick too!" a blond man kicked his leg out in a poor imitation, hitting a nearby man in the back of the knee.

"I think the new kid beat you, Rosier," said a boy who looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

"That's the understatement of the century Junior!"

"Where's your mask kid?" asked the brown haired man standing next to him.

He had to get away.

He vaguely heard someone ask "Kid? You okay?"

As confused and delirious as he was, he knew he was not safe here. Not with Death Eaters.

He turned on the spot, ignoring the confused looks from the Death Eaters, and apparated to the first place he could think of: Grimmauld Place.

* * *

**Werewolf Laws based on : Jim Crow Laws, Nuremberg Laes, several U.S Civil Rights court cases (ie, Loving vs. Virginia)**


	4. Diminished

Updated 5/12

* * *

_Diminished_

* * *

Auror Savage let out a growl of anger as he watched the Death Eaters apparate away. They hadn't managed to capture or injure any of them; the Aurors had taken all the hits instead.

He sank onto his knees next to Proudfoot, whose blank eyes stared into nothingness. He looked at his best friend – the first person he ever met in Hogwarts – his partner in the MLE of ten years, a man he considered his brother, in shock.

He started shaking Proudfoot's arm, desperately trying to wake him up.

"Proudfoot! Pat! Patrick! PATRICK WAKE UP!" he wailed as he shook Proudfoot, "…wake up…." He vaguely noticed that tears were streaming down his face, leaving white tracks in the dirt that covered his face; he vaguely noticed that Proudfoot was not waking up.

"NO!" Savage's lungs began to constrict with grief, "NO! PATRICK! NO! WAKE UP YOU GOTTA WAKE UP! YOU HAVE TO!" He let out great gasping sobs as he leaned over Proudfoot and started to viciously shake his shoulders.

Savage barely noticed as his fellow Aurors hurried to his side and began to pry him off of Proudfoot's body.

He watched, in a trance, as they covered Proudfoot's body with a pristine white sheet.

* * *

The ministry was in chaos. They had just heard back from the Aurors in the field. Three of their own had been killed. One, their best, killed by a sickly little boy they'd never seen before. Students, who had been out of bed enjoying the night life of Hogsmeade, were reportedly injured, though know one knew how severely. Multi-colored paper airplanes filled the elevators and hallways, witches and wizards in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement scurried about, yelling and huffing as they tried to obtain more information on the dangerous new Death Eater.

A group of men from the International Magical Office of Law were currently holed up in a board room with the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and the head of the DMLE creating a rather morbid looking wanted poster from images they retrieved from the returning Aurors, who were slowly trickling in.

Savage was the last among them to come back. Nearly six hours after the debacle had begun. The attack itself had been quick. Ten minutes at most. But they had been able to respond quickly thanks to insider information that confirmed an attack would happen early that morning.

The ministry had just dispatched clean-up officials and mediwitches when Savage finally returned.

As for the Aurors, they threw themselves into their research, digging through piles of old files and notes, pinning snapshots and descriptions of the man who had killed Proudfoot.

Savage snatched up a photo of the boy, a snapshot taken from a penseive view of the incident – they still had no idea what curse he had used to attack Proudfoot – and growled. This boy killed his partner, his best friend.

"I want this boy to feel our pain!" he screamed, as he slammed his fist into his cubicle wall. Several cheers rang up from the others.

Hours late as the morning commuters began to fill the great hall rumors filled the halls and slipped between ears. Supposedly this new Death Eater killed a high-ranking Auror, said one receptionist to another. While another heard that this had been the largest Death Eater attack in recent history, with damages of millions of galleons. Yet another spoke of the way the young man had slipped like a shadow from the grasp of the red-robed enforcers.

* * *

The minister slumped down in his chair and threw the poster on his desk. He needed a drink.

"Amanda – owl the Daily Prophet and have them run the wanted poster on the front page."

"Yes sir, I'll get right on that," said Amanda as she exited his office.

The person on the poster blinked up at him and fixed his glasses. "Who are you?" he asked it dejectedly.

He had heard the rumors, though which of them were true he wouldn't know until the meeting with the Defense Department and The-Boy-Who-Lived later tonight.

* * *

Behind her the noise escalated.

Suddenly a deafening silence fell and all she could hear was the deep, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of her heart steadily speeding up. She could feel the agonizing sensation of the cold dry air parching her throat as she struggled to regain her breath. The tiny puffs of smoke coming from her mouth swirled into the air around her. She leaned against the cold, stone wall.

If she had been in any other situation, it would have been a perfect moment. The sky was as dark as it can only be on the crispest of winter evenings, and the snow was glowing in the moonlight. Untouched and pristine, something pure and innocent.

This was not that moment, however.

The sky was foreboding, a fact emphasized by the darkness of the smoky plumes created by the fire which raged below; the snow was smothering. It lay like a red, cold, dead blanket over the tiny village below. It was in ruins. She choked back tears. Hogsmeade – destroyed in an instant by terrifying, demonic figures in inky cloaks.

She had barely made it out of the candy shop before it was shattered into a million pieces, splintered boards flying through the air. So close. She knew it had been a mistake to sneak out, and now she would face the consequences.

She had lost her friends on her way back to the castle. They were nowhere in sight. Only the green robed mediwitches and blue robed Ministry officials were barely visible against the dismal environment. She could only hope her friends had made it out ok.

The entrance door flung open. Before her Professor McGonagall stood.

"Ginny!" her voice high and tight; surprised, "what on earth are you doing out here?" She ushered her into the castle.

"I-" She could not speak. Guilt filled every vein of her body. Terror filled her heart.

A new era was beginning. She knew it. Tonight was the night everyone had been waiting for, talking about. The Dark Lord was back, and more daring than ever.

* * *

"Is everyone alright?" asked a Weasley twin as the Order members trudged back into Dumbledore's office. They looked like a mess - all covered in dust and blood, the edges of a few robes burnt.

"Your expression does not bode well for us Mister Black," said Albus cautiously as he looked over the edge of his glasses.

"All of us are accounted for; the Aurors and Madame Plumata weren't so lucky," Sirius informed them grimly.

"Several students who snuck out are still missing," Minerva said solemnly. She hoped the green and blue robed witches and wizards rummaging through the wreckage would find them alive and well. "But what of the boy?" she demanded, snapping from her stupor.

"Escaped," said Fabian, "He killed," he choked on his words, "he's the one who killed Plumata and – and we all saw what he did to Proudfoot."

Sirius's lips pressed together in a thin line. Proudfoot's death is one that would remain etched in his mind. Proudfoot's arched body falling, spinning, gracefully into the ground in a halo of red. He'd seen that curse before – he knew whose it was. Severus Snape. Sirius's face darkened at the thought. He crossed his arms and stared moodily at the floor.

" He aparated away – we let him get away!" Benjy said as he slammed his fist onto the arm of the purple chair he was sitting in.

Lily's lips tightened slightly. She looked at James from the corner of her eyes as she spoke, "He looked very young…maybe not even of age yet…and he – he –he …" She trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

She had seen what the boy, who she had mistaken for James, had done – the way he sent Proudfoot tumbling to the ground without even thinking about, on pure instinct. She shivered and James pulled her closer.

Albus nodded slowly, the twinkle gone from his eye. "You all saw this boy?"

"We – my group and Moody's - got surrounded by about thirty Death Eaters near the Hogs Head….we couldn't make it out in time to…you know – barely got out alive," sighed Remus. It had been an exhausting several hours. Below them Hogsmeade lay in ruins. The sun was beginning to peak through the trees.

"Fabian? Would you care to fill those of us who were unable to witness this boy…in action…in on what happened?"

Fabian and his brother, Gideon, exchanged a look before Gideon began the story, "Word in the Auror's office says that the boy had planned for the attack on Hogsmeade to distract everyone so he could get Dumbledore, but something must have gone wrong with the plan, Plumata keeping him in the Three Broomsticks I bet. Merlin rest her soul."

They stared gloomily at each other, each wondering what this war would bring.

* * *

"The raid went well master," Evan hesitated, "we – there was one boy who…"

Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes, "Spit it out, Rosier."

"There was one boy, a new recruit, who we lost," Evan stared at the floor. His master would not be happy with the news of a betrayal.

"Killed by Aurors… Who let that happen?" Voldemort hissed, his demeanor radiating anger.

Evan twitched, "No sir – he left."

Voldemort stared at Evan with unnerving red eyes. It took all his power to not to shrink from the Dark Lord's gaze. "He left?" Voldemort asked, his voice a gentle hiss.

Evan gulped loudly, the tone with which Voldemort spoke – without any apparent emotion, scared him. "Y -Yes sir."

"Look at me, Rosier." Evan looked up at Lord Voldemort, who began to search through his memories of the evening. Evan watched helplessly as the visage of the young green-eyed boy waivered in the front of this mind. It disappeared suddenly and Voldemort narrowed his crimson eyes.

"A boy, with black hair and green eyes," He stated. His snake slithered lazily around his shoulder. It's tongue flicked in and out, sending shivers up Evan's spine.

"What is the boy's name?" Voldemort asked the men gathered at his feet. No one dared move. "You all saw him, correct? What is the boy's name?" He asked again, malice hanging on every word.

"No one knows?" Seething rage bubbled in every word. "Had you ever seen him before?"

The masked purebloods tittered anxiously. Malfoy looked like he was ready to vomit. Yet no one answered. The hall was silent.

"And know this boy – whom know one seems to know - knows where our headquarters are located?" Voldemort asked softly as he stood from his straight-backed chair.

"Rosier."

Evan was sweating beneath his robes. His heart felt like it was going to come out of his chest. "Yes, my lord."

"_Crucio_."


	5. Elladora

Updated 5/27

* * *

_Elladora_

* * *

Harry didn't know what the hell was going on. Maybe he had finally lost it, gone crazy. First the land lady had acted all funny then tried to kill him, then a Death Eater had treated him like they were best pals, an Auror had attacked him, and now this!

He had snuck quietly into Grimmauld Place – the door of which he noticed had received a fresh coat of paint – so he wouldn't wake up the portrait. And here he was, standing in the middle of the hall like a slack-jawed idiot.

It was so clean. It was still dark, oppressive, and slightly depressing, but it shined with grandeur. Perhaps Kreacher had started to actually do his work.

He quietly looked into the sitting room, generations of dark objects, the very ones they had gotten rid of in his fifth year, lined the shelves.

"Huh," he huffed, eyes narrowed in confusion. He crept slowly toward the kitchen, taking special care as he passed the Toll-leg umbrella stand.

The portraits watched him with interest. He noted the absence of Walburga's portrait. Perhaps Remus had finally gotten the damn thing off the wall. He'd have to thank him when he saw him later.

Harry paused before he entered the kitchen. He could hear muffled voices within.

* * *

"The boy is described as being between 14 and 16 years of age. Black hair…glasses…unusual scar…" the old radio crackled. A news bulletin had interrupted Walburga's favorite morning soap-opera, Healers. She could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"Killed an Auror? A young boy?" she snorted with disgust and reached across the mahogany table to turn off the radio. She took a deep drink from her goblet and smacked her lips. She stared at the radio in dismay. You simply couldn't believe what you heard these days. Too many radicals were controlling the media. To her it sounded like another pro-Mudblood rights group trying to paint the Pureblood loyalists as ruthless, unethical people. Ruthless, sure, but unethical? She'd never known a Pureblooded woman to allow their underage sons to join The Dark Lord's brigade.

She'd not been very happy when her own son had made that decision. It was too risky. Those men and woman were always caught or harmed. And great repercussions effected the entire family. Why, without him who would carry on their family name? He was the sole heir to the Black family empire. She shook her head. Regulus had always been rash.

"Yes, I know my dear. Caspar flooed me earlier. He says the ministry is in a right state, that the boy works for the Dark Lord - which is good, I suppose. But…killing an Auror in the open like that is…unwise…" said Orion as he sat at the table and poured himself a goblet of the finest goblin-made wine.

He believed in the pureblood agenda as much as the next man, but he thought this boy had acted quiet stupidly; charging into battle without his mask on so people would be able to identify him. The ministry was already alerting wizards of the dangerous threat the boy posed via the Wizarding Wireless Network. The boy, no matter how skilled or powerful, was not very bright.

"Yes, but necessary," Walburga raised her nose into the air, "I think the boy's done a good thing, advancing the Dark Lord's agenda, riding the department of a bloodtraiter! Why just the other day Cygnus was telling me about that dreadful Weasley family. Their oldest was attacked by a werewolf, you know. The boy should rid the world of them next," she let out a mirthless laugh, "Bested by a little boy! He mustn't have been a very skilled wizard then."

Orion smiled tightly. It was true. If a 16 year old boy could kill one of the most dangerous and powerful Aurors, then their forces were worse off than the rumors stated. He opened his mouth to respond when he saw a figure move to the kitchen doorframe over his wife's shoulder.

He had assumed it was his son, and turned to welcome him home. A startled noise erupted from Orion's throat, drawing his wife's attention. He saw her shoulders stiffen and her jaw clench.

He looked closer at the person who was hidden in shadows. Beneath matted black hair two murky green eyes stared back at him.

It was him, the boy the ministry had just warned them about.

Orion didn't know whether to laugh or cry; He couldn't even understand how the boy had gotten in. The house was under every protection available. Perhaps he was smarter than he had thought.

The boy stepped into the light; his face hard, hair and eyes wild, and his wand drawn.

* * *

Harry aimed his wand at the man, who was slowly rising from the kitchen, his hands outstretched in a gesture of surrender.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, barely concealing the anger he felt. This man had broken into his house and had the audacity to lounge around!

"I should be asking you the same thing," stated the man in a drawl that was eerily similar to Malfoy's.

Harry looked at the man critically. He looked like an older version of Sirius and was dressed in what looked to be a dark green smoking robe.

"What do you want? Money?" asked the man. He began to drop his heavily ringed hand to his pocket.

"What? No –Keep your hands where they're at –what are you doing here?" Harry demanded as he waved his wand threateningly.

"Okay, okay. We live here. Just…just put your wand away, boy," the man said calmly, raising his hand back into the air.

"No," Harry didn't know if he was refusing to put his wand away or telling the man he didn't live here. He guessed that it didn't really matter.

"No?" echoed the man dully, "Please stop waiving that blasted wand around - you're scaring my wife!"

Harry glanced at the woman the man nodded towards. Looking back at him, pale and trembling was a woman he had seen – and heard - many times at Grimmauld Place. "Mrs. Black?" Harry's voice was higher than normal.

The woman's eyes widened a fraction before she nodded. Her swallow face seemed to get even paler.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, this time out of confusion.

He couldn't understand any of this! He was seeing dead people. If that was Mrs. Black, then was the man Mr. Black? He felt his stomach flutter at the thought.

"We live here!" growled the man, his lip curled in a vicious snarl.

"No you don't," ground out Harry, livid, "Stop lying! This is my house! Sirius gave it to me!"

"Sirius?" the woman – Mrs. Black, Harry reminded himself – asked quietly, a hint of anger lacing her voice, "Sirius, that filthy traitor?"

Harry gazed at her. Their eyes locked for a second before Harry was distracted by movement in his peripheral vision.

Snapping his head back to find the man, Harry jumped in shock as he found a wand inches from his nose. "You explain," said the man, "What you are doing here – in our house!"

Harry's eyes crossed as he looked at the wand. "I don't know! I don't know what's going on…."

Harry's mind felt like mush. They – the Death Eaters - did something to him, poisoned him; that was the only possible explanation…. "You. What have they done to me?"

The man spoke warily, "I do not know wha -"

"TELL ME WHAT IS HAPPENING!" roared Harry, finally loosing his temper. His head seemed to split open in searing pain, causing his vision to blur. He staggered backwards and leaned against the wall for support.

"Get out!" screeched Mrs. Black, standing abruptly and pointing towards the door.

"TELL ME!" Harry screamed again, lunging forward suddenly.

Mrs. Black shrieked in horror.

The man slashed his wand and sent a cutting hex at Harry. Harry spun out of the hex's path – it clipped his hand - overturning a chair in the process. A goblet clattered to the ground unceremoniously. Dark red liquid puddle on the floor.

Harry wiped his bloody hand on his shirt. More blood seemed to seep out of the gash than was humanly possible. The man approached slowly, his wife skittering to the opposite side of the table – out of harm's way. Harry crouched slightly before sending a reducto towards the man's foot. He let out a hiss of pain as the curse connected with his ankle – shattering it.

His jaw set, the man threw a dozen curses, none of which Harry recognized, at Harry, who had to retreat into the far corner of the kitchen. Harry's stomach sunk as he realized he had effectively trapped himself. He growled in pain as his headache worsened.

The man limped forward quickly, throwing the chair out of the way, and sent a stunner at Harry. Harry, relying on pure luck and instinct at this point, jumped onto the counter, avoiding the curse. He ran along the countertop and passed by the man, who sent knives flying toward Harry. Harry jumped off of the counter and rolled onto the floor, the knives narrowly missing his back and embedding in the wall.

Harry crawled into the hallway and stumbled to his feet as he raced down the hall, looked over his shoulder at the man who was sending progressively darker curses at him. His head was spinning and the world around him was going in and out of focus.

Harry tripped over the troll-leg umbrella stand, as Tonks had many times before. He fell face first onto the ground, his nose crunching against the wooden floor. Cursing at himself, Harry realized that his fall had allowed a fireball to clip his shoulder, setting his robe sleeve on fire, instead of hitting him in the back of the head. He had to be more careful.

Harry rolled along the floor, trying to put the fire out before it melted his skin too badly. Another fireball narrowly missed his ear and scorched the floor, while another hit a House-Elf head that was mounted on the wall.

The portraits were suggesting curses Harry should use, "Do _ferveotu_ boy! It boils the wizard from the inside out-"

"No, no! Use _Sterntergum_- my own creation-"

Jumping up, and ignoring the painful - and dark - curses the portraits suggested, Harry continued towards the door. He flung the door open, making it slam against the wall and ran onto the porch steps and into the arms of a cloaked stranger.

The stranger, whose face was obscured, stumbled and moved Harry out of his path, "What -"

Harry never heard the rest of the question; he had run down the steps and across the grassy park.

Hiding behind a tree, Harry tried to catch his breath. The pain in his head stopped suddenly. It had been Voldemort, he realized. And he had been mad. Very mad. He clutched his arm, burned by the fire, close to his chest. Every breath sent blood dripping down the back of his throat. He sputtered and gasped for air. His face throbbed. He was more confused now than he was ever before. He had no idea what was going on, and someone had stolen the safest house Harry had ever known. He had nowhere to go – no, he had the Weasleys.

* * *

"What the hell? Who was that?" The man from the doorway asked, rooted to the spot. He watched the staggering figure disappear behind a tree.

"Don't just stand there Cygnus! Do something!" cried Orion, "Walburga, call the Aurors!"

Walburga nodded and scurried into the sitting room to fire-call the Ministry.

"Merlin! What happened in here?" Cygnus asked as he surveyed the hallway and kitchen. It was a disaster. He set the troll-leg upright. He glanced around the room one more. The troll-leg seemed to be the least of their problems.

"That crazy Auror killer waltzed in here and tried to kill me!" Orion said, aghast.

Cygnus looked at his brother-in-law in shock, "He walked in here? How – the Fidelus…."

"I know," said Orion, who looked disgruntled, "I thought it was Regulus when he first walked in. He held us at wand point!"

Walburga glided back into the room, her face a tight mask of betraying no emotion, "The Aurors will be here in five minutes, they said not to clean up the scene…I will have Kreacher hide certain artifacts, however. "

"Yes, very well," Orion said as he waved his wife away. He plopped into a chair, inspecting his injured foot. It was very swollen now. They boy had been good, he begrudgingly admitted to himself. He fought like a wild animal though.

Cygnus merely looked amused. "I guess you're going to have to wait till after the investigation for me to heal that leg…"

Orion glared at Cygnus, who shrugged unapologetically.

* * *

Harry struggled against the Auror who had clasped his hand over Harry's mouth.

Moody would kill Harry for letting his guard down. Harry hadn't heard the man apparate or walk up behind him. He was too busy trying to stop his hand from bleeding. He didn't even know there was another person in the park until the man pinned his arms behind his back, covered his mouth, and told him he was under arrest.

Another man approached them, dressed in the standard red Auror robes.

"Still at the scene of the crime, eh?" jeered the man, "Let him speak, Dawlish."

Dawlish removed his hand from Harry's mouth. Dawlish…that sounded familiar.

"So, how's it feel, baby Death Eater, to know you're going to Azkaban?" asked the unknown man.

Harry coughed up blood. "I'm not a Death Eater! I-"

"No? So you weren't at the attack on Hogsmeade, you didn't kill an Auror, and you didn't apparate away with a man dressed as a Death Eater?" the man asked.

"I - well – yes, but -" Harry sputtered as he tried to explain, but the Auror cut him off.

"BUT? But nothing! You've already confessed scum!" said the man as he jabbed his finger painfully into Harry's burnt shoulder. He stifled a cry of pain, but tears threatened to spill over.

"No, you-"

"_Silencio_. Put the cuffs on him Dawlish. You're going to Azkaban boy," the man cackled gleefully.

Harry yelled, but nothing came out. They got this all wrong! He couldn't go to Azkaban – he had to talk to Dumbledore and hunt the Horcruxes! Didn't these people know that he was their only hope, and here they were, arresting him?

Dawlish wrenched Harry's arm out, getting ready to place the cuffs on. Harry let out a silent scream of agony. He couldn't go. He hoped Dumbledore would understand what Harry was about to do. Harry was sure he would – Dumbledore himself had evaded arrest in his fifth year.

Dawlish placed a cuff on Harry's wrist. Now was the time to make his move.

Harry kicked the Auror standing in front of him in the stomach. Using the man as a springboard, Harry pushed off the man and back into Dawlish, bashing his head into Dawlish's mouth. The unknown Auror fell backwards and landed with a painful sounding crack. Dawlish cried out in pain and released Harry as he cupped his hand over his bloody mouth. Harry, as a precaution, elbowed Dawlish in his ribs, making him double over in pain.

Harry began to turn on his heel, to apparate away, when the fallen auror grabbed his shoe and pulled Harry to the ground.

"Thought you could get away, eh?" he asked, wincing as he stood. He pointed his wand at Harry.

Dawlish moved next to the other man. Blood was dribbling down his chin; Harry thought he may have knocked some of his teeth out. Dawlish pointed his wand at Harry as he spat a mouthful of crimson out.

Harry sat up slowly, pulling himself into a squat on the ground. He removed the silencing charm quickly. Harry fingered his wand in his pocket. Now or never.

"I know I can," he said as he delivered a roundhouse kick that knocked both Aurors off of their feet. "_Stupefy_! _Stupefy_!" Harry didn't want to risk the Aurors chasing after him again, so he bound them in thick black ropes.

Harry was suddenly glad he had been able to watch kung-fu movies when the Dursleys had left him home alone.

Harry knew he had to get to the Burrow, but didn't want to involve the Weasleys in his current problems – he was now, officially, on the run. He knew if he went to the Burrow, Ron and Ginny would insist on becoming outlaws so they could parade around with him; Harry didn't want to take that chance.

He had to stay hidden from the Aurors and Ministry, go somewhere they would never look. He had to go someplace where he would be safe from the Death Eaters too. He had to go somewhere Muggle.

He knew the perfect place.

* * *

**Sterntergum: to stretch the skin**

**Ferveotu: I boil you**


	6. Filthy Shoes

Updated 5/27

* * *

_Filthy Shoes_

* * *

It had been quite a shock when Hermione Granger opened up her copy of The Daily Prophet that morning only to find a picture of a bruised wild-haired teen taking up most of the front page. He was rather handsome. Below the picture were words that chilled every, well almost every, student to the very bone: _Wanted for Murder of an Auror._

Raids and attacks had not been commonplace until a month ago, when their occurrences shot up to once or twice a week. There had been relatively few casualties though, only the occasional Muggle family or a Squib. They were looking to show that an attack could happen at anytime not kill as many people as possible. Every so often giant wanted posters sprung up in the papers and around town. Recently the attacks had been getting more violent, with deaths of muggles and muggle borns increasing drastically. But now…murdering Aurors in broad daylight? It was unusual, but not unexpected, she mused. But what were they playing at? Everyone knew the Aurors were a divided group - rumors said half of the force supported Voldemort. Maybe that's what they were doing - killing all the non-supporters, infiltrating law enforcement and the Ministry so they could have complete political control. She shivered at the thought.

Hermione, aware of the stares of her peers, looked up from the newspaper.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" asked Ginny Weasley, "Are you alright? You're looking a bit green…"

"I – yes. I'm fine, just….just shocked; there's been …an Auror…murdered," Hermione choked out as she handed Ginny the paper. Ginny looked a bit sick herself, Hermione noted. Beside her Ron looked up from his breakfast, a piece of egg dangling from his lip.

"An Auror? You don't think that has anything to do with You-know-what…" he asked darkly as he turned to face his friend Neville.

Neville shrugged, not paying much attention. His scar had kept him up all night.

"I don't know…He's angry about something though," he rubbed his forehead, "Do you think this kid is one of Vol -shut up Ron! - Voldemort's lot?" Neville asked as he flicked the paper.

Hermione turned to answer him but was interrupted by Ginny. "No. Well, yes…but not one of the usual, I'm afraid."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Ron as he poured himself a bowl of Cheerie-Owls. Neville looked at Ginny expectantly.

"What the means, Ronald, is that this guy isn't any Death Eater we've fought with Neville before. I – I saw him. Last night."

"What!" Hermione squawked loudly. "What do you mean you saw him, Ginny?"

"Yeah, what _do_ you mean," echoed Ron.

Ginny stared at her plate. "Last night a bunch of us snuck down to Hogsmeade after hour – I know it's against the rules Hermione. The attack started while we were there. It was so scary. I saw him. He was standing with another man, they were arguing. It was hard to tell what was happening; everything was up in flames so quickly… " She trailed off.

Ginny snatched the paper from her friend's hands and flicked her red hair over he shoulder.

"They think he's a new recruit…I doubt it though. I bet he was just hidden – like a secret weapon. It says here that it's possible he's very high up in the ranks," said Ginny, tapping his picture with the back of her hand. She studied it closely. Her stomach turned at the thought of being so close to two cold-blooded murderers. "He looks so familiar, doesn't he?"

"He does," Hermione nodded solemnly.

"What else does that article say, then?" asked Seamus as he leaned towards Ron. Lavender and Parvarti stopped their own conversation and turned to look inquisitively at Ginny.

Ginny cleared her throat, "Early this morning, December the 17th, at approximately 3:30 am the wizarding village of Hogsmeade was witness to an attack from followers of You-Know-Who-"

* * *

Auror Anderson cursed as he looked at his fellow Aurors, Dawlish and Cunningham, unconscious and bound tightly in thick black ropes, lying in the park.

The kid got away – again. He was becoming something of a pain in the ass for the MLE. It'd only been two days and the kid had escaped twice. Not only was he draining resources (they'd already spent more than enough in health care costs and obliviators) he was making their department look incompetent.

* * *

Harry stood in the rain in front of the grimy brick building. No one would expect him to be here, which gave him time to think about his options and contact Dumbledore and the Order.

Hunching his shoulders and putting on his best 'innocent- lost-child' expression, Harry opened the door and stepped though the threshold.

Ms. Cole eyed Harry disdainfully before giving him a grey tunic and leading Harry up a narrow set of stairs and to an empty bedroom that he immediately recognized.

"You can stay in this room," she sniffed.

"Thank you ma'am," Harry replied quietly as she left him. He had seen her once before – in Dumbledore's memory.

Harry sat on the cot, smiling ruefully at his luck. He was staying in the very room that had once housed Tom Riddle Junior. He knew that neither Voldemort nor any other wizard would consider looking for him in the Muggle world –Dumbledore being the only exception, and even then the old man would most likely go to the Dursley's – which allowed him to think over several possible plans of action in solitude.

Alone.

He was finally going to be doing something alone – without the help of Hermione and Ron – the way it was supposed to be. He did lament over the loss of his invisibility cloak and Hedwig. Both would have been useful….Hedwig would return though, she was a smart owl; she would find him.

Until then he was going to take a long nap.

* * *

Savage was angry. Very angry. If they had let him go and get the boy, then all of this could have been avoided - the kid would be sitting in a high-security cell in Azkaban right now.

But no. The head of the department, Gawain Robards, had told Savage to go home and get some rest – that he was too emotional after what had happened and might do something he's regret.

Savage snorted, the only thing he'd regret is letting the boy live. He didn't think anyone would reprimand him for getting rid of such a cretin.

Instead they sent Cunningham, a capable Irish wizard, and Dawlish, one of the best duelers in the whole ministry, instead. And what happened? The boy escaped, made them look like fools. He was right in their hands and they let him get away. He shook his head in disgust. He'd read the report. The boy had kicked their asses. Two against one, and he still destroyed them.

It was clear that none of the gifted wizards on the force could keep up with this boy. And that scared them all.

Now the ministry was going spare no means trying to capture the boy dead or alive. They were sending teams of hit wizards throughout the country side. If another high profile pureblood family was held at wand-point….Savage shuddered. He didn't want to think of what the consequences would be. Though why the boy had done it was another question. It didn't add up. It was all too suspicious.

Savage gowled. The Blacks, except Sirius, were a nasty bunch with dark ties. No one had been able to prove it, however. He didn't put it past them to set up this little attack, to make them look like innocent wizards who were attacked by You-Know-Who's dark forces. Savage guffawed. It was a funny thought. He knew enough about that family to know better. They may trick the rest of the public, but not him! He'd seen the light grey eyes of that family behind masks before. There was no denying it was them. Regulus, the little whimpering snot, and his uncle Cygnus, had both been in skirmishes with the Aurors. Savage knew it was them. He knew they'd been a part of the train massacre that happened long ago as well. He'd never forget those infamous eyes and arrogant postures. He'd spent years gather enough evidence to finally get them thrown in Azkaban only to lose it in a suspiciously timed fire. Without substantial proof they could do nothing and the two men walked free.

Yes, he bet a Black set this up. He bet the family was well acquainted with the little terror.

The gossip around the Magical Brethren Fountain was not focused on the bad luck of the Black family, however. It was focused on the preposterous idea that the boy was You-Know-Who's heir, an apprentice. That the reason attacks had increased over the past month was because of this boy.

Cindy Lockheed told him she heard the boy was responsible for the Bones and Vance murders. Savage didn't doubt that; if the boy could fight off fully trained Aurors – kill them – then an unsuspecting family was easy as pie to deal with.

He told Cindy he thought the boy was probably employed as a secret weapon, not an heir. Who would let such a valuable heir loose like that? It would be far too dangerous, he reasoned.

Though small part of him wanted the heir rumors to be true, if only to make Proudfoot's death a good one. But he doubted it. If it was, well, good luck catching him then! It'd be like catching a shadow – impossible. And Savage told Gawain so.

Gawain just looked intrigued before replying "A shadow…yes…He's a shadow alright. I've heard a lot of people calling him that."

The next thing Savage knew, every ministry employee was whispering about The Shadow, speculating about how he could talk to dragons and is really half vampire. The boy –The Shadow – was practically famous!

It was enough to make Savage finally want to go home. He grabbed a handful of wanted posters – he was going to staple them to telephone poles throughout the city – before flooing to his flat for a "nice rest."

* * *

Whispers, rumors heard from the friend of a friend, rose through the Great Hall.

I heard that he was You-Know-Who's heir….My uncle said the boy is trained as an assassin, new him in Hit Wizard training…Have you seen Neville? He looks like he hasn't slept, I wonder what he's doing ….If a mere boy is capable of orchestrating such an attack and committing cold-blooded murder, what's next?

They couldn't help but feel that Hogwarts just wasn't as safe as it used to be.

Ron Weasley was certainly glad he was going home for the Holidays.

* * *

Harry awoke hours later to a rumbling stomach. He sat up and rubbed his eyes groggily. He blinked rabidly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness that threatened to engulf the room. He clicked on the lamp that was on a nightstand next to his bed.

Mrs. Cole had left a sandwich. Harry practically inhaled it.

Now that he had a nice rest and a decent meal he had to figure out what the heck was going on.

Why were the Aurors convinced he was a Death Eater? Why did they even think he killed an Auror? His stomach lurched at the thought. Had he killed one? He didn't think so; he had only cut that one ….

Harry wished he hadn't eaten that sandwich.

He did kill an Auror. Not on purpose though, but that didn't make it any better; he still killed a man. That poor Auror died a long and painful death, and he had caused it, bled him to death!

He could see the headlines now: Boy-who-killed; Harry Potter turns to Dark Arts; Potter gone Darker

Still, that didn't mean he was in league with Voldemort! Why anyone would believe that was beyond him. No matter how hard Harry racked his brain he could not come up with a possible explanation for the ministry's new belief.

The ministry wasn't the only one who thought he was a Death Eater, an actual Death Eater had! He'd said he had no idea who Harry was. Unless the man lived under a rock he would know who he was.

Perhaps that had been an elaborate trap. Yes, that seemed like something Voldemort would do, if fourth year was anything to go by.

Voldemort was behind this. He was no doubt controlling the government, so he could easily spread lies about Harry, lies that the public would readily believe. Then Voldemort had his minions attack Hogsmeade in an attempt to capture him. The orders were probably to bring him back alive, which is why that Death Eater tried so hard to get him away from the Aurors.

Luckily he had managed to escape. Harry shuddered as he thought of what would have happened…what could have happened.

For the first time Harry wondered why his scar wasn't hurting. He traced the thin lightning bolt scar with a finger. Surely Voldemort would still be beyond angry, having Harry in his grasp only to have him escape. It had hurt for a short time earlier, but the pain disappeared as soon as it had shown up. There had been times when his scar had hurt for days. Harry didn't care though, he was glad his scar wasn't hurting.

Harry's eyes stung as he realized the predicament he was in.

He killed a man. He attacked a man and his wife, and then evaded arrest. Voldemort and the ministry were after him. Couldn't get much worse could it?

No. No, it could get worse, a lot worse.

On top of killing a man he was going crazy. He knew it. His brain was cracking under the pressure, the stress.

That was the only plausible explanation, unless this was some overly vivid dream or he'd fallen down the rabbit hole.

Dead people stay dead. Walburga Black – if it really was her – was dead and yet he swore he saw her, not as a ghost or an Inferi, but as a living breathing person.

Alive.

Harry buried his head in his hands, wondering what he was going to do.

He did know some things though. He knew had a responsibility to complete, hallucinating or not he was going to complete it. He knew had to go after the Horcruxes.

He just didn't know what they were – just the diary – which was already destroyed –the locket – which he assumed Dumbledore had already gotten rid of- and the ring.

Dumbledore had said that Tom Riddle liked to keep trophies. And Harry knew that the man had a flare for the dramatic. That meant that the remaining Horcruxes would probably be something of great importance – something valuable. Something Riddle would have rewarded himself with.

He knew from his lessons that Tom Riddle had been obsessed with his heritage; that he considered Hogwarts his home. That would most likely mean that Riddle would be interested in something magical…maybe something to do with Hogwarts.

Thinking about Slughorn's memory, and what Dumbledore had said, Harry knew that there would be six Horcruxes total. With three gone that meant he had to find and destroy three more.

Harry lay back on the bed, hands crossed behind his head, as he mentally listed anything that Voldemort would most likely find interest in. For the first time Harry realized how much he had been relying on his friends – Hermione would have this figured all this out in a second.

* * *

"The rumors at the Ministry are that the boy is our Lord's apprentice," said Gibbon to his companion, Mulciber, over the screech of the Iron Gate shutting.

"I highly doubt that, Gibbon. The Dark Lord said -" began Mulciber condescendingly.

"I know what he said! I was just telling you what the rumors are!" snapped Gibbon.

"I don't care about the rumors!" snarled Mulciber, shaking his clenched fist in Gibbon's face.

"The Dark Lord obviously knows something about the boy…you saw what he did to Rosier," Gibbon mumbled and glared at the squawking albino peacocks they were walking past. Mulciber snorted at the obstinate display and kicked a pebble along the path until they finally reached the massive oak doors.

Mulciber didn't even bother to knock, instead stepping right inside of Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa, Lucius's wife, was already there to greet them.

"Please, this way, Lucius is in the drawing room," she said, beckoning them with a wave of her manicured hand, "I will have Dobby bring some tea."

The stilted silence that followed in the drawing room was enough to make Gibbon break out into hives. Narcissa had Dobby put a potion in his cup of tea, to help sooth them.

Mulciber added a little something extra to his own cup, from a little silver flask.

Lucius looked at his watch. "We should be leaving now, Gibbon, Mulciber," he said as he rose from his chair. Gibbon nodded and followed Lucius to the fireplace while Mulciber hastily finished his third cup of tea.

Mulciber watched as Lucius, then Gibbon, disappeared into green flames. Sighing – he had a bad feeling about this meeting - he grabbed a handful of floo powder and threw it into the fireplace.

"Headquarters!" he slurred as he stepped into the flames.

* * *

Harry thought about the horcruxes that had already been destroyed.

The Diary. That had been used to try and complete Salazar Slytherin's goal of purging Hogwarts of those he deemed "unworthy". Harry supposed that tied into Riddle's magical heritage, as the diary allowed him to use Slytherin's basilisk – an odd thing to have as a family heirloom - many years in the future.

Morvolo Gaunt's ring. He had said it was a family heirloom, like the locket; Harry knew Riddle was Slytherin's ancestor. That meant the ring had once been Slytherin's. Yet another tie to Riddle's magical heritage.

Lastly, the most recently acquired horcrux, the locket. It had been a Slytherin family locket.

Harry sensed a pattern forming. Everything had something to do with Slytherin – Riddle's bloodline; Hogwarts founder. Given the pattern that was emerging, Harry thought it was safe to guess that the remaining three objects had something to do with Slytherin or maybe even Hogwarts.

What was Slytherin known for? Harry closed his eyes as he racked his brain for anything that would help him.

Snakes. Slytherin could talk to snakes. Voldemort could talk to snakes; heck, Voldemort even had a pet snake!

Harry bolted upright, elated. That was it. Nagini. Nagini was a horcrux.

Everything was beginning to make sense….His fifth year, when he saw the snake attack Mr. Weasley, Dumbledore told Harry he had been able to witness the attack because "Voldemort's mind happened to be in Nagini at the time".

Harry knew that he shared a connection with Voldemort, and if Voldemort put his soul into Nagini, of course Harry would be able to see it.

Harry's elation dissipated as he thought of what the connection between himself and Voldemort was….

Something clicked in Harry's mind. Surely that connection was not what he was thinking it was.

"…transferred powers when he gave you that scar..." Harry mumbled to the air. Did Dumbledore know?

* * *

"My dear friends," said Lord Voldemort as he sat in a high-backed chair, "You know, of course, why we meet here tonight. A boy, it seems, has succeeded in infiltrating our ranks. Not only this, my friends, but this mere boy has been able to cause chaos in the Ministry and obtain the attention of Dumbledore."

Voldemort paused as he looked at the Death Eaters who knelt before him.

"My primary goal has been achieved, this you know. You also know that, with my guidance and talent, I will be able to lead you through a revolution – the move from a society ravaged by beasts and foul creatures to one that consists of those with pure and noble blood, like yourselves," Voldemort spread his arms, pointing to the men in front of him.

The Death Eaters watched as Nagini slithered up the chair and around Voldemort's throne. He stroked Nagini with a long, pale finger as he spoke, his voice a whisper, "I wish to meet this boy; persuade him to join our ranks. He could help to advance our cause. If he does not wish to join – he will be killed; we cannot have a boy like him, dangerous, carrying our secrets, running into the manipulative hands of Dumbledore."

A collective "Yes, my lord" rang out through the room.

"I have chosen a select few of you – the most capable, excluding Severus, who is occupying a rather important position at this time – to obtain this boy. If you shall fail…." Voldemort trailed off, letting the unspoken threat sink in. Silence filled the room.

"Travers, Rabastan, Rosier, and Black; Congratulations," said Voldemort, though the tone in his voice obviously meant he meant anything but his Congratulations. In fact, Voldemort wanted nothing more than for the boy to get rid of Travers, a useless wizard. He wouldn't mind if the boy severely injured Rosier either.

"Thank you, my lord," the four men said, albeit weakly.

Voldemort sneered; he despised any show of weakness. He stood from his chair and swept out of the room, Nagini following him, allowing the doors to slam shut behind him. He knew his followers would be gossiping like school girls over this new mission. It didn't matter; he had more important matters to attend to, like purifying the wizarding race.


	7. Granny

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**

* * *

**

_Granny

* * *

_

Harry sat at his room's tiny desk, writing a letter with a ball point pen. The pen stopped moving as Harry paused to reread the paper. He looked out of the grimy window, thinking of how to end the letter. He was soon lost in thought.

Harry decided that staying at the orphanage was almost as bad as living at the Dursleys'. It was more gloomy and oppressive feeling than Number 4 Privet Drive had been, but Harry didn't have to make dinner and he wasn't the only person that had to do chores. Plus he was allowed to leave whenever he wished because the matron ignored him (though she occasionally told Harry to brush his hair).

Harry hadn't been here long, only six days, but he had already developed a schedule. Get up at 8 a.m., get dressed, make his bed, and then go downstairs to eat breakfast – a bowl of oatmeal. Then he'd go back to his room and write a letter to Dumbledore, always keeping it vague enough that an outsider would not understand what he was talking about. After that he'd drop the letter off at the post office before hanging around London (making sure to stay as unobtrusive as possible) and nicking a copy of The Daily Prophet from a trashcan, like he had done at the Dursleys'. Harry always stopped at a local coffee shop on his way back to the orphanage and ate a sandwich. The owner knew him now, said Harry was becoming a regular, and let Harry eat for free. Then Harry would return to the orphanage and hid out in his room reading and analyzing the newspaper until it was dinner time, after which he would lay in bed until his mind ran out of thoughts.

Harry hated the paper more than ever now. All it ever talked about was his love interests (usually Luna Lovegood, Hannah Abbot, or Hermione) and "mental instability". Every so often an article about new laws, such as the Muggleborn Protection Act – which was doing anything but protecting the Muggleborns – was on the second or third page, or there would be an advice column advising all wizards to protect their homes from squibs and beggars. It made Harry sick.

Thinking about the vile paper angered Harry and he signed his initial – he figured that would be a suitable signature - more fiercely than was necessary.

He folded his newest letter and slid it into a homemade envelope then tucked it into his pocket. Harry put on his dark coat and headed off towards the post office.

_

* * *

_

Neville tried to dodge his Grandmother's finger. She was trying to wipe dirt off of his cheek.

"I just don't understand how you always end up with dirt on you face, Neville," his grandmother, Augusta, sighed.

Neville rolled his eyes and shifted the packages in his arms. "Gran…you're embarrassing me…" he whispered, mortified.

Augusta tsked quietly as she grabbed Neville's chin and turned his face toward her. She licked her thumb and rubbed across the brown streak that marred Neville's cheek. Neville squeezed his eyes shut and wrinkled his nose.

"Hey, Nev!" shouted a voice.

Neville looked towards the origin of the voice, and his grandmother dropped her hand and turned around.

Neville saw a dark haired boy with glasses running towards them, his hand outstretched in a wave. The boy skidded to a halt, panting. "Neville."

Neville recognized the boy – the Death Eater. Shocked, Neville let his arms fell to his sides; the bags tumbled to the ground.

* * *

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I know you are receiving my letters and I'm sorry if you're busy, but this is important, you can't avoid me __again __ anymore. Please respond as soon as possible. _

_-H_

H. That was what the boy was calling himself. The signature was written as if Albus should know who "H" is - someone familiar. He was quiet sure he had never met this "H" before. He was not a student at the school - never was, either – he knew all of them.

Albus wearily rubbed his eyes as he set the letter on his desk. This was the fifth one in 6 days; each day the letters got shorter and more desperate and threatening.

_You can't avoid me anymore._

He had reread this line several times. Albus knew better than to go off and meet the boy, as was suggested in the first letter, but he had a feeling that this boy would be very persistent and not stop until he got what he wanted – which was him dead.

Albus simply couldn't allow that; he still had much to teach Neville.

Albus could tell this boy was clever. His letter had alluded to many things that Albus felt he should understand, yet the boy gave nothing concrete away. He was trying to lure him into a trap, preying on his reputation for giving second chances. Yes, this boy was clever. That was what made him even more dangerous.

* * *

Harry watched as the color drained from Neville's face and his jaw slackened.

"Neville? Are you alright?" he asked as he stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Neville's shoulder. "You, uh, you dropped your packages…"

Neville jerked away as Augusta swung her pocketbook at Harry's face. It hit him with a resounding thump. Harry's eyes watered and his cheek stung.

"Don't you _dare_ touch me again," Neville snarled.

Neville had changed. He was more confident and defiant – Harry could tell by the way he stood as he continued to snarl at him. Harry decided the easiest way out of this mess was to just do what Neville said, that pocketbook hurt! "Alright, Nev. I-"

"DON'T YOU NEV ME EITHER!" Neville roared, "You're acting like we're friends. Well let me tell you something! We're not and _never_ will be – I know all about you! What you did!"

Harry felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. How could Neville believe the lies printed in the newspaper? "So you believe the paper then? About everything? All the lies?" he asked as he eyed Augusta wearily. She looked poised to attack him again.

"Lies you say? Funny, you look like the same kid who killed that Auror-"

"I didn't mean to!" howled Harry.

Neville ignored him "You're nothing but Death Eater scum." Harry could not believe what he was hearing. "Now why don't you go running back to your little Lord Voldemort before I do something I might regret."

"What? What are you talking about Neville? Why would I go to Voldemort? He killed my parents!" said Harry, the volume of his voice rising.

"How. Dare. You," said Neville as his fist curled around his wand, "How dare you say that. Tarnish my parents' memory!" Neville pointed his wand at Harry's face.

Harry looked around; people were starring and pointing, Augusta had melted back into the crowd. He didn't want to fight Neville, and yet…something in him roared in fury at Neville's statement. Voldemort killed his parents, not Neville's. "You're parents are dead! Maybe you wish they were -"

"LIAR!" spat Neville as he jabbed his wand in Harry's direction, sending a stunning spell.

Harry dodged it neatly, but couldn't believe Neville was acting this way. "Neville! Stop! I don't want to fight you!"

"_REDUCTO_!" Neville bellowed, pointing at a building behind Harry. The stone crumbled and crashed around Harry.

Harry quickly ran from the collapsing building and into an alley three shops away. He heard heavy footsteps following him and ducked into the shadows, panting heavily.

Neville stopped at the opening of the alley, his wand pointed at Harry. Harry held his hands up and slowly walked out of the shadow, facing Neville.

"I …I should _kill_ you!" Neville said quietly. Harry could hear people running towards them; Neville glanced down the road. "Consider yourself lucky," he said as he pocketed his wand and turned his back on Harry.

Harry watched Neville walk away. He could hear concerned voices pestering Neville, but could not make out what they were saying.

He slunk back into the shadows, grabbing a newspaper from the trash bin, and apparated back to the orphanage. What the hell was going on?

* * *

Neville quickly left Diagon Alley, ignoring Hermione's interrogation and promising Ron to tell him the story later. He had told them he was fine, really. In reality, he was anything but.

He walked into the medium sized living room, his grandmother trailing behind him with the bags, and slumped onto the overstuffed loveseat.

Neville rested his head on his hand and Augusta placed the packages on the glass coffee table.

She paused next to the seat, about to ask Neville if he was all right.

"How could he just pretend like that Gran?" asked Neville suddenly, tears streaming down his face. The confrontation with The Shadow, as he was called, was more emotionally draining than facing Voldemort himself. He looked at his grandmother as she sat next to him. "How could he say….say that his parents were killed, not mine? Then treat me like I'm his best friend?"

"Oh, Neville," Augusta sighed, rubbing his back, "Voldemort is a horrible being, cold and heartless. He could never understand. He's willing to do anything to gain what he desires…even if it means emotional attacks against you – his greatest threat."

* * *

Harry meandered into his room. He was more than shocked at Neville's behavior – he still couldn't believe it! Harry regretted going to Diagon Alley; it was a dangerous and reckless mistake that could have cost him a lot more than his dignity.

Harry hung his coat on the door handle, taking the newspaper from his pocket.

He didn't even know what made him go there in the first place. He had eaten at the café and was returning to his living space when he noticed The Leaky Cauldron. At first Harry had been surprised that he had not noticed the tavern before, that he had walked by it everyday for nearly a week. He stood at the door for awhile, debating on whether or not to enter. No one had noticed him, and Harry was relieved to have some contact with the magical world again. What made him continue into Diagon Alley, Harry hadn't a clue.

Harry settled onto his cot and kicked off his shoes.

He spread the newspaper on his lap.

Looking back at him from the front page was his own face. Harry stared at it, the bold headline searing his eyes. This…something like this had never happened before. Harry scanned that article quickly. Apparently this was not the first article of its kind, but how had he missed the others?

Harry crushed the newspaper into a ball and set it on fire - using the cures Orion had attacked him with. He couldn't believe this! It was outrageous!

The time had come for Harry to leave the orphanage; he needed the support of his friends and adoptive family now. With Dumbledore continuing to ignore his pleas, they were the only ones who could even remotely help him.

* * *

Albus decided it was imperative – the Order's number one mission – to stop this boy using any means necessary.

He was simply too much of a threat.

Albus conjured a dozen patronuses. He whispered a message for an emergency meeting before sending them on their way.

He could not let this boy ruin everything they had worked for – the plan.

* * *

**You know what I love? Hearing your predictions and theories. Leave a review please. **


	8. Half Things

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**

* * *

**

_Half-things_

_

* * *

_

"What's the meaning of this Albus?" asked Lily Potter as she walked into the headmaster's familiar circular office. James trailed behind her, looking worried.

"Ah, Lily, James; Please take a seat," Albus transfigured two lemon colored chintz chairs from his beloved lemon drops. Lily sat down slowly; she noticed that Albus's cheery words did not match his demeanor. James, on the other hand, looked incredulously at the chair before letting out a silent sigh and plopping into it.

"Now that we are all here…we can begin," Albus said as he sat in his own chair.

"What's happened?" asked Molly Weasely, wringing her hands, "Is….are the children okay?"

Albus nodded. "Yes Molly dear, the children are fine; I however, seem to be in a spot of trouble."

The Order stared expectantly at Dumbledore, who seemed to be waiting for someone to ask 'why'.

Sirius looked troubled and was the first to start asking questions. "Why's that Albus? What'd you do?"

Albus smiled slightly. "I continue to live," He stated simply. "I have received letters from the boy, now known as The Shadow -The one sent to kill me -" he brandished five letters in the air, "Judging by the contents of these letters I fear that the boy is…not in the right state of mind, and therefore, a danger to us all."

"You're saying he's crazy?" asked Fabian slowly.

"You'd have to be to kill without remorse," snapped Moody.

Fabian scowled at Moody. "I know that! But really! Isn't this all something we already know? It was pretty obvious at Hogsmeade that he wasn't right. Hell, Bill even told us -"

Albus interrupted, "Yes Fabian, but in light of recent events I felt it was important to reiterate this oft overlooked fact -"

"What events?" James asked as he abruptly leaned forward. He too had thought that Dumbledore had only been pointing out the obvious. "I haven't seen or heard anything, so it must have happened this morning."

Albus frowned and pushed his half-moon glasses further up his nose. "Around that time, yes. Just minutes before you arrived, and about fifteen minutes after I received the newest letter, I received a frantic fire call from Augusta -" someone gasped; James thought it was Molly, "it seems the boy taunted Neville and made absurd claims, then proceeded to fight him."

"Is Neville alright?" asked a white-faced Molly

"He's fine my dear. Perhaps a little shaken, as is understandable."

"_A little_, Albus!" Cried Minerva as he tore her gaze from the bookshelf and looked at Albus, "The poor boy must be more than _a little shaken_! Angry, upset, disgusted – he must be experiencing a range of emotions that none of us are even capable of understanding!"

Minerva looked around the room. Molly was nodding her head so much in agreement that Minerva thought it was going to fall off. Lily was starring blankly at the window. Emmeline was scowling at the fireplace, clearly cursing the boy for possibly causing damage to Neville's already frail emotional state. Minerva was surprised to see that Sirius had a look of agreement on his face.

She did not get a chance to look at anyone else, as Albus started speaking once more.

* * *

Harry ducked into a shadow, behind a garbage can, and pressed himself against the cold and damp brick wall.

He could hear the heavy footsteps approaching. He held his breath and sat still in the darkness.

Outside of the alley entrance they paused for a beat before moving on, their heavy footsteps trailed away.

"Hell….lost 'im again…."

* * *

"Black says 'e saw 'im leavin Diagon Alley," stated Travers as he put a mirror into his pocket. He walked up next to Rabastan. He pulled his jacket – part of his disguise – closer to his body to protect himself from the bitter wind.

Rabastan nodded. "Then we had better watch his hideout."

The two men walked quickly toward their destination, a large, gloomy orphanage where the boy was staying. Really, they had Rosier to thank for this discovery.

They had been scouring the entire wizard and Muggle world for anything about the boy, but found nothing. At least, not until Rosier happened upon the boy in a coffee shop. Rosier then followed the boy, always keeping a safe distance, to what appeared to be his home. Upon further inspection he found that it was an orphanage. That, they figured, was why there was so little paper work about the boy – he was an orphan. That had been the only big lead they received. They learned nothing of importance after that, at least that's what everyone beside Black thought. Black was under the assumption that knowing the boy's routines, what he ate, who he was writing to, would help them in the long run. They figured that Black was better at this kind of thing than they were, always had been too, so they did as he told them – memorized everything humanly possible about the boy.

Rabastan and Travers sat down on the heavy metal bench outside the brick building.

"D'you think Black's got some kind of plan 'e's not telling us about?" asked Travers as he lit up a cigarette.

"Of course he does!" scoffed Rabastan. He waved his hand in the air in an attempt to push the cigarette smoke out of his face. "Black always has a plan."

Both men sat quietly in thought, Travers occasionally tapping the ash of off his cigarette, looking out over the dreary street. Soon, a blue-clad figure walked past them and through the orphanage doors. It had been the boy.

Travers smushed his cigarette butt into the ground with his shoe and discreetly pulled the mirror out of his pocket. He tapped it with his wand, whispering Black's name. Black's face appeared in the mirror.

"Yes, Travers?" he asked, clearly annoyed with the interruption.

"The boy is 'ere. What should we do?" asked Travers. Rabastan leaned over his shoulder and looked down at Regulus, awaiting orders.

"Wait until he leaves, then contact me and follow him."

"Right," Travers nodded and cut off the communication before slipping the mirror back into his pocket. Now all they had to do was wait.

They waited a long time, they sky was now a crimson color and the moon was just beginning to appear. Travers, who fell asleep, was nudged in the face by Rabastan's elbow. Startled, Travers jumped up and began let out yelp, but was silenced by a glare from Rabastan.

"SH! He's leaving!" Rabastan said in a harsh whisper.

"Well, come on then! Follow 'im!" said Travers as he began to trail after the boy, who was just turning a corner. "We can't lose 'im! Come on!"

Rabastan followed Travers, walking briskly. "You've got to call Regulus…"

"Ah! Right! 'Old on…." Travers pulled the mirror out, "Regulus Black."

"Yes?" inquired Regulus.

"'Not so loud! 'E's left and we're following 'im."

"Where at?"

"Right now we're at…." Travers looked at Rabastan for help.

"We're heading towards Vauxhall Park," stated Rabastan, looking into the two-way mirror.

"I'll meet you there." Regulus answered and, once again, abruptly ended the connection.

A few minutes later Travers and Rabastan had followed the boy to Vauxhall Park. The boy took out his wand and did a simple _Point Me_ spell before continuing on his way.

Travers and Rabastan waited a few moments before leaving their hidden position. They set off at a leisurely pace, as the boy had not noticed them and was not making any effort to stay hidden.

A twig snapped behind Travers, who whipped around in surprise

Regulus stared back at the pale man. "A bit jumpy aren't you? How's things been going?"

Travers let out a relieved sigh. "You scared me Black!" he whispered loudly as they started to walk once more.

"He hasn't noticed us yet, so I suppose that's good," shrugged Rabastan, answering Regulus question.

"Do you know where he's going?" asked Regulus.

"No. He's been fairly quiet."

"Well then, think it's about time we let him know we're following him," Regulus said with a smirk. Neither Travers nor Rabastan questioned him; they knew he had a plan.

Shortly after making their tracking of the boy more obvious, by doing things like knocking over trashcans and sniggering loudly when the boy tripped on the pavement, the boy began to try and shake off his followers.

The Death Eaters closed the distance between them and the boy, making the boy cast furtive glances back towards them and quicken his step. Every so often he would weave in and out of an alley and the men would act as if they had lost him before fading back into the darkness and continuing to stalk the boy unnoticed.

Regulus's plan centered on wearing the boy's nerves down, and surely this game of cat and mouse would.

The boy ducked into another alley way. The three men walked towards the opening, Travers sighing theatrically and adding a "We lost 'm again," for good measure. They paused at the mouth of the alley, grinning slyly at each other before moving on. They waited in the shadows for the boy to reemerge.

* * *

"Albus, do you really think the boy attacked Neville? From what I heard -" began Kingsley from his position near Sirius.

He was interrupted by Albus. "Kingsley, though you may be an Auror I can assure you that my sources are certainly more up to date than the office gossip. They have informed me that the boy did indeed attack Neville, verbally at first before escalating things to a physical fight."

Kingsley nodded shortly, his eyes tight.

"Do you think he's trying to break Neville down?" asked Fabian from his position against the bookshelf.

"It's a possibility, playing a mental game with him," answered Moody.

"A possibility? It's obviously a part of his plan!" cried Molly in outrage, turning in her chair to face Moody.

"I think it's more likely that the boy was gauging Neville's skill level," said Sirius matter-of-factly as he examined his nails.

"Witnesses say he approached Neville without his wand drawn," said Kingsley, " That makes me doubt that the boy was really after Neville; it seems as if he was on his way to do something else and just - I don't know – ran into him."

"What else could the boy have been doing? Surely not his Christmas shopping," countered Gideon.

"If what Kingsley is saying is true, then maybe the boy was trying to send a message. Have you answered his letters, Albus?"

"His reasons do not matter to us," rang out Dumbledore's voice, "he has crossed a line in attacking Neville. We must prevent the boy from accosting Neville again – No matter the cost."

James frowned and McGonagall sat even more stiffly on her chair.

* * *

Harry strained his ears against the eerie silence that made more noise than he thought possible. It had been five minutes since the men following him left.

He poked his head out of the alley and looked up and down the street. It was all clear.

Harry walked to the edge of the sidewalk and stuck his wand out in front of him, calling the Knight Bus.

The double-decker bus popped into existence right in front of him. Harry pulled his hood further over his face, hiding him in darkness. A man Harry had never seen before began Stan Shunpike's usual spiel about the bus. Harry paid his fair, stated his destination, and walked onto the bus, sitting in a seat near the back.

A cloaked figure sat down next to him, and Harry's heart leapt to his throat.

Regulus saw the boy stick his wand in front of him and knew exactly what the boy was doing.

"I'll follow him," said Regulus to Travers and Rabastan as the Knight Bus appeared. Regulus ran towards the bus and hoped onto the steps, bypassing Biff Mcfly, the luggage boy. Regulus threw a Knut over his shoulder at the man as an after thought as he followed the boy down the aisle.

The boy sat with a heavy sigh onto the leather seat. Regulus smirked to himself as he watched the boy's eyes widened as he sat down next to him.

* * *

"Albus?" asked Lily, for the first time tonight, "May…May I read the letters?" James looked at her questioningly, but she ignored him as she retrieved the letters from Albus's outstretched hand.

Lily silently read the letters, carefully cataloging any references or extremely vague phrases. _You promised me...protected by the blood of loved ones...death-another adventure...farther than any other wizard._ She could feel James reading over her shoulder.

"Albus…" Sirius began, "when you say no matter the cost….do you mean…"

Albus interlaced his fingers and nodded gravely. "My dear boy, I am afraid so."

"Surely there is another way Albus, he is just a boy…" sighed McGonagall. Molly nodded in agreement.

"I have to agree with McGonagall," said Remus. "He deserves time in Azkaban, not …not death; no matter what atrocities he has committed."

"Atrocities that may be only misunderstandings in the grand scheme of things," Kingsley mumbled to himself. Sirius shifted slightly in his seat.

"Remus," Albus sighed, "the boy is simply too powerful to be in Azkaban. If he truly wished it, he could escape quite easily."

"I don't think he wants anything to do with Neville," stated James as he looked up from the letters, "All he states in these letters is that he wishes to speak with you. Perhaps he ran into Neville on accident and dealt with the situation as he was taught -"

"James, the boy was sent to kill Professor – sorry – Albus. Of course he'd 'like to speak with him'!" said Emmeline.

"He calls himself 'H' in these letters; we should call him that too. It's better than 'the boy' at any rate," Lily interrupted, "And maybe he really does only wish to speak to you, Prof- Albus!" Lily felt as if they were missing something big, something that would connect all the dots. She grabbed her bag and stood abruptly. "I cannot be a part of this group if you are willing to advocate the murder of underage wizards – killer or not. Or have you forgotten that you're training Neville to be a killer too?"

"Lily-" began Albus

"No! I revoke my membership from the Order of the Phoenix. Good day." Lily twirled around and walked out of the oval room. James looked at the shocked faces around him before nodding towards Dumbledore and following his wife out the oak door.

* * *

Savage grunted as he watched Dawlish pinch the bridge of his nose and Mustang sigh heavily. Neville wasn't telling them anything.

"Listen, Neville. You need to tell us what happened." Said Inspector Mustang.

"I am telling you what happened; you just don't believe me!" Snapped Neville.

Mustang stood, his hands pressed flat against the steel table. "You're saying that The Shadow did nothing. Did not attack you; did not fight back; just ran away. Obviously you are hiding something."

"I swear – I told you everything. I want to leave now." Neville crossed his arms.

"You can't -"

"Actually – sir – he can. According to Cygnus Black, Neville is free from any trauma and we cannot, legally, hold Neville against his wish…" Dawlish stated slyly as he flipped through a manila folder. Mustang glared at Dawlish before nodding.

"Fine. You can leave." Mustang grabbed the folder from Dawlish's hands before walking out of the barren room.

Savage moved from his place against the wall. "So, now that the bad man is gone, are you gonna talk?"

Neville looked darkly at Savage. "You've been here. You've already heard what I've got to say."

Dawlish raised an eyebrow. "That's interesting. I swore I saw Shadow talking to you…"

Neville's face paled.

"Neville, Neville, Neville," began Savage, "the more you tell us the easier it will be to catch and put this hood where he belongs. With your full account he'll have no chance in court. Think of all the lives you'll be saving by striping Voldemort of his number one man."

Neville smoothed down the collar of his shirt and leaned his elbows against the cool tabletop. "Well…"

* * *

"Who are you?" asked the boy nervously. Regulus was slightly surprised that the boy the Dark Lord feared so much was so….low class and uncouth. And that accent - dear lord was the boy from Surrey? It made Regulus want to vomit. "Well?" snapped the boy, interrupting Regulus's thoughts.

Regulus let his hood drop and watched silently as the boy seemed to choke on air before whispering 'Sirius' so quietly that he thought he must have misheard.

"How did you- I thought – dead-another - stupid mutt," the boy muttered incoherently. Regulus just nodded politely, letting the boy ramble.

"I missed you, Sirius."

So the boy did know Sirius. Regulus smiled reassuringly, the way he always saw his brother do. Inwardly he was disgusted at his uncanny resemblance to his treacherous brother. He could use this, along with the boys shocked state, to his advantage. Regulus had always known that he and his brother looked alike. If he could keep up a charade as Sirius long enough then he could get some useful information out of the boy. "I missed you too."

The boy smiled. "You look good - still kinda skinny and sick," Regulus frowned and the boy quickly changed subjects, "Was it you following me, Snuffles?" the boy grinned.

Snuffles? Regulus let out a bark of laughter, the laughter that haunted his dreams and rang in his ears. "Who else? Glad to see you were on your toes though,"

"Yeah…just like Moody says, 'Constant vigilance'."

Regulus nodded, as if remembering some particularly poignant moment with Moody. Regulus wasn't really. He was still contemplating the nickname Snuffles.

So the boy knew Mad Eye Moody, too? Then he must have some alliance with Dumbledore.

"Listen Sirius," the boy paused. Regulus looked at him intently, silently urging him to continue. "Well…I guess you aren't going to believe anything I tell you….but….I need help. The Aurors -"

Regulus ruffled the boy's hair. The boy was giving him a perfect opportunity! "Doesn't matter what happened, does it? You know I'll always help you, no matter what."

Regulus watched as the tension slowly drained out of the boy's shoulders. "Yeah…yeah."

"Look, lets say we get off this bus and we can head to my place….and chat about whatever's got you so antsy."

The boy nodded and stood to pull the stop string. The bus hurtled to a halt, sending the other occupants rolling about.

Regulus and the boy stepped off of the bus and into the dark, wet street somewhere in the county of Berkshire.

"Right then," said Regulus as he cracked his knuckles – a habit his mother still reprimanded him for – and extended his arm to the boy, "I'll apparate us from here."

The boy grabbed a hold of Regulus's arm. Regulus turned on the spot, whisking the boy with him through the black tube-like experience of apparition.

* * *

"It isn't right James. He's manipulating us -"

"I know Lily. Let's go home, we can talk to Kingsley and the others about it after the meeting is over." James let out a little sigh, which turned into a puff of mist in the cold air.

Lily looked dubiously at James. "I don't want to just -"

"I _know_ Lily. I don't either."

"I only want the truth, James -I'll find it too. Dumbledore, he…" Lily said as she picked invisible lint off of her scarf.

James smiled crookidly. "I know, Lily. They know, too."

"But they don't really _know_."

James looked at his wife. "Neither do we."

* * *

Harry knew he must be hallucinating. Sirius, his dead godfather, was standing next to him in a lush forest.

"Where are we?" Harry asked as a feeling of unease settled into his stomach.

"In the forest. This way," Sirius said sharply, starting down the path with long, quick strides. Harry trotted after him.

Funnily enough, Harry felt as if, somehow, Sirius was a cheap imitation of his godfather. Sure, this imitation looked a lot healthier, but it wasn't the same. Not once had he called Harry by his name, or playfully punched Harry in the arm. He was not quiet as carefree or happy, much more coolheaded and businesslike, but he still had the jaunty step and air of confidence. Harry couldn't repress the niggling suspicion that this was an actor, someone sent to unhinge him from reality and lure him into a trap.

Yet, try as he might to call the imposter out, Harry could not. He latched onto this unknown man as if it truly was Sirius returned from the dead, hoping that his only family really was back, that – Harry bumped into Sirius's back. They had reached the edge of the forest

Sirius seemed to start sneering at him before quickly turning the ugly expression into a smile that did not reach his eyes. "We're here."

Harry looked at where Sirius was motioning to. Across a small field sat a familiar handsome looking manor.

"Have I – Have I been here before?" Harry asked.

Sirius furrowed his brow. "I don't think so, I just found out about it a few days ago. It was Uncle Alphard's home." Sirius shrugged and continued to walk towards the manor. Harry quickly followed.

Unease further gripped Harry as they walked through the manor. It was too empty, cold, and seemed as if someone had been living in it for some time.

"I thought you said you just got this house," Harry stated as he looked at Sirius, who raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you think otherwise?"

"Well…it's so …clean. Not at all like Grimmauld Place was," Harry trailed off as he realized how ridiculous he must have sounded. Sirius stopped next to a large cherry door and gave Harry an odd look.

"The house elves have kept it clean," he said in a tone that ended the conversation, as he allowed the heavy door to swing open and ushered Harry inside.

* * *

The Minister of Magic had been lounging in his office sipping his tea when the double doors burst open and a harried looking secretary, Amanda, walked in.

"Oh, Minister!" she gasped as she sat heavily in a chair and began to smooth out her hair. "We've only just heard – it's awful!"

"What is?"

"The Shadow has attacked Mr. Longbottom!" Amanda cried out

The Minister bolted out of his seat, his lime green bowler bobbling on his head. "Is Neville alright? What happened? Did we catch that boy? Get Dumbledore on the fire*!"

Amanda stood, wringing her hands. "Yes; The Aurors are questioning Neville now; No; doing it right now sir!" Amanda gave a little salute and marched out of the office.

* * *

Harry froze at the sight before him, only faintly aware of the ominous thud created by the closing door.

Before him sat Voldemort in a regal straight backed chair, Nagini draped around his shoulders. Masked figures encircled Harry. Sirius strode past Harry to stand in the open position at Voldemort's side.

No one spoke. The only noise was that of the ticking grandfather clock. Voldemort sat lazily stroking Nagini's head, seemingly bored.

At last Voldemort spoke, his icy voice chilling Harry. "Good work Regulus."

"Thank you, my Lord."

It was in that moment that Harry was both horrified, and ready to kick himself for not following his instincts. He had known, _known_, that there was something decidedly off about Sirius, thought that he had been an actor sent to cripple him. He had known that the dead do not come back, but he threw all rational thought out the window when confronted with the face of his 'godfather'.

Worst of all, Harry noted as he searched for an escape, he allowed himself to be lured into a trap.

"Have a seat, boy." Voldemort commanded, transfiguring a chair and placing it beside Harry. When Harry made no move to take a seat Voldemort grinned lazily. "No? But I must insist – _Crucio_!"

Voldemort shot the spell so quickly that Harry didn't have time to react. His body felt as if it was on fire, every muscle burning as the miniscule fibers snapped and contorted beyond repair. Voldemort lifted the curse and Harry saw little white lights dancing in his grayed vision. He swayed slightly, and rested his hand on the back of the chair in order to maintain his balance.

"See? I think you need to sit." Said Voldemort, his voice filled with mock concern.

"No." Harry said, his voice coming out louder and stronger than he expected. He grabbed for his wand but caught only air. Harry looked down at his pocket to see if he really had missed his wand. There was empty space where his wand should have been.

Voldemort laughed as Harry felt a sudden jolt of pure panic. "Missing something?"

Harry's breath was raspy as he slowly looked up at Voldemort. Beside him Regulus - if it truly was him, hadn't Sirius told him that Regulus was killed? - stood with a feral smile on his face, twirling Harry's wand in his fingers.

Harry lunged toward the man, his hand outstretched, knowing he had no chance. Regulus stepped lightly to the side, dodging Harry, and sent a cutting hex at Harry's face.

Harry fell to the floor, his glasses slipped down his face, which was oozing blood. Someone kicked him in his side, making his ribs emit a rather disturbing crunching noise.

Above him, Regulus said lightly, "May I suggest you take a seat?" A quite laughter echoed through the room.

When Harry did not move he felt two hands grip his arms and pull him up. Once Harry was back on his feet and unknown Death Eater kicked Harry towards the chair. Harry stumbled and fell next to the chair.

"My, my," began Voldemort, "It seems you have bled on my floor. _Crucio_."

Harry could taste blood in his mouth as he bit down hard on his cheek to keep from screaming in pain. He decided that he did not like the taste – it was as if he had eaten a handful of pennies – before he blacked out.

* * *

**Now, who's found a plothole? Anything? Tell me if you can think of anything that doesn't make sense. Thank you for all the amazing reviews, keep them coming! **


	9. If and Buts

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**

* * *

**_Ifs and Buts

* * *

_

_One hundred and Four. One Hundred and Five. One hundred and …One hundred and_ - Harry sighed exasperatedly as he lost count of the dull grey bricks once again. It was the only entertainment his small prison had to offer, but he found he was growing rather bored of it. One can only count bricks for so long before they go mad. Harry thought that was one of Voldemort's tactics. It wouldn't surprise him.

Harry gazed at the wall beside him. Upon it were four miniscule scratches that looked extraordinarily ordinary, as if they might have been from an angry rat and not a form of counting the days. Four days he had been here. It seemed a hell of a lot longer than that. His bones were weary and his tongue felt five sizes to big for his mouth. Harry grimaced as her heard the heavy door creak open and slam harshly against the stone wall. He looked up at the black shadow blocking the light from the doorway.

"Up." It snarled.

"Good evening to you too, Mcnair," Harry deadpanned.

"Don't play smart with me boy -" Mcnair stopped abruptly when Harry stood and wobbled towards him.

"Where to, today?"

Mcnair sneered. "I see what you're trying to do," he said, shaking a gnarled finger in Harry's face, "and don't think you can pull the wool over my eyes." Mcnair stood aside and allowed Harry to cross the threshold into the hallway. "You won't be so chipper when the Dark Lord gets done with you today." Mcnair grinned wickedly, and Harry suddenly felt sicker.

The fire in Harry's veins ended as abruptly as it had started. He didn't know how much more of this he could handle. For a brief moment Harry wondered if the Longbottoms had felt this way when they were being tortured…

"My patience is wearing thin! I'll ask you one more time boy – who are you?"

Harry gasped for breath, his mind clouded. "What are you getting at? Y-You already know!" Voldemort snarled as he brought his wand slashing downward. Harry felt the sting of the curse as it cut his cheek.

"There is no use lying brat," Voldemort said lazily. Bellatrix cackled from somewhere in the background.

Harry could feel the warm flow of blood on his cheek. He felt lightheaded. Dizzy. "I told you -"

Voldemort's face was engulfed by fury. "There is no Harry Potter!"

Voldemort watched as Rosier escorted the boy out of the hall. He sneered. For causing so much chaos and uproar the boy was hardly anything extraordinary, crazy perhaps.

According to Regulus, who gave the most reliable intelligence, the boy knew Alastor Moody and Sirius Black fairly well and was an orphan. In fact, the boy had been residing in the very orphanage that he had once lived in. Quickly, Voldemort banished those thoughts.

Harry Potter. The boy who'd been causing so much trouble. Of course! Voldemort slumped gracefully into his straight-backed chair.

Potter. If he hadn't known better he'd have thought the boy was mocking him, using that vile name.

The Potters were, for a short time, the bane of his existence. Taunting him, placing his loyal followers behind bars. Then there was that dratted prophecy. And who exactly had it pertained to? Why, the Potters of course! That Mudblood woman, the one Severus – the treacherous bastard - had practically drooled over, carried within her the sole being that would cause his downfall.

He had thought over several strategies, attempting to come up with the best way to fool fate. He thought of killing the Potters in a tragic car accident. He thought of luring them into a false sense of security, only to strike in the dead of night and kill the perfect little baby. The little baby they were to name Harry.

In the end he decided to get rid of the precious Potter before it even entered the world. He did the job with his own wand. Read the reports from Cygnus afterwards. Ickle baby Harry was no more.

That was how he knew there was no such person as Harry Potter.

* * *

"Lily? Lily – are you alright?" James asked as he touched his wife's shoulder. She seemed to snap back to reality and shook her head, as if shaking away memories.

"Yes, I'm fine," she took the steaming mug from James' hand and leaned back into the couch, "Why?"

James propped his feet up onto the coffee table. He looked into the flames which licked the inside of the fireplace, and gave the room a hearty glow. He sipped his tea. "You looked a bit distant is all. I thought - I thought that with everything that has happened…" James trailed off as he saw Lily tighten her lips.

"It's getting late. I should put the kids to bed. Feet off of the table, James." Lily walked from the room, leaving a troubled James removing his feet from atop the coffee table.

* * *

Evan Rosier looked at the back of the prisoner's head. He was bringing the boy back to his damp cell.

Now, Evan Rosier was a clever man. He was fifth in his graduating Hogwarts class, a shoe in for the Unspeakable position at the Ministry. He was crafty and clever enough to rise to one of the top positions in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle. Track, stalk, negotiate, intimidate; he could do easily. And yet, a single little boy sent his mind reeling.

Harry – as he said his name was - was a mystery. No paper trail. No family. No friends. He was nonexistent until December 17th – the infamous Hogsmeade Incident. But somehow he _knew_ them. Wives and children, brothers and sister. A warning, mocking tone had laced his slightly hysterical voice. He seemed unhinged, confused even. He scared them. He was a loose canon. They had already heard about him threatening the old Black family.

This kid certainly had what it takes to rise to the top. He had an attitude about him. Like he was out for revenge. A Gryffindor for sure – if he had even gone to Hogwarts – but the most Slytherin of Gryffindors. He would be a good addition to the roster, and already he had proved his worth. ..

Rosier was startled out of his thoughts when he ran into the prisoner, smacking his cheek against the boy's head. Rosier rubbed his cheek and opened his mouth to snarl at the boy. "You." Rosier looked dumbly down at the boy, confused by the sudden malice in his voice.

"What? Keep moving -" Rosier said, annoyed.

"Not you, idiot," sighed Regulus. Rosier snapped his mouth shout as Regulus moved closer to him. "He's talking to me." The boy – Harry – bristled slightly, his arms body full of tension.

"You. Are. Despicable. HOW DARE YOU! RUINING SIRIUS'S NAME!"

"Don't talk to Regu-" began Rosier as he grabbed the boy's arm.

"Shut up Evan. Let _Harry_ here have his say about my _dear_ _brother_. Carry on." Regulus gestured toward Harry with his pale hands, smirking maliciously.

The boy seethed; his teeth clenched as he tried to pull away from Rosier. It was a futile effort. Regulus laughed loudly. It sounded hollow and strained to Rosier's ears.

The boy suddenly went still, relaxing. "I will kill you," he stated.

Regulus began to speak; both he and Rosier were taken aback when the boy suddenly lunged at Regulus, escaping, momentarily, Rosier's grip.

Rosier grabbed the boy harshly by his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him and lifting his feet off the ground. Regulus did not speak or laugh. The boy struggled against Rosier's grip, thrashing. Rosier glared at Regulus before he hauled the boy back to his cell.

Harry slide down the grimy wall and onto his heels. Harry jingled the metal cuffs on his wrists, smiling at the irony. Imagine, bigoted wizards using Muggle methods to keep him hostage! The Death Eater – Rosier – looked at him with an expression on his face that Harry could not place before he closed the door. Harry was plunged into darkness, left only to his thoughts.

* * *

Regulus exited the stone corridor, his cloak snapping at his ankles and the word despicable ringing in his ears. He knew he was despicable – a deceitful, manipulative, slimy little snake. He did not particularly care. At least, he knew he shouldn't care. And yet, when the boy said that, called him despicable, said he was ruining his brothers name, Regulus found it hard to fight off the scowl that had threatened to appear on his face. He had tried to laugh it off, but he saw the odd glance Rosier had given him and knew that he had not fooled anyone.

Regulus entered the dark kitchen. He shooed the house elves away; he was capable of retrieving his own food. He grabbed a mug from a cabinet and put a kettle of water on the lit stove.

He leaned against some shiny apparatus he'd heard Travers refer to as a dishwasher. Briefly he wondered why someone bent on obliterating those who were not pure of blood would live in a home full of Muggle contraptions.

He pulled the boy's wand out of his pocket and inspected it lazily before throwing it onto the counter. It was nothing special.

Regulus's thoughts drifted back to the earlier confrontation. A frown marred his face. Harry Potter. Regulus didn't know if the boy was a raving lunatic or a genius. He wondered if the boy had purposely chosen the name in order to anger the dark lord, or if he truly thought he was Harry Potter. His actions made no sense. He could infiltrate a meeting and fight with the best of them, even taking down some of the ministry's best Aurors, but Regulus was able to track him easily and remove his wand without him noticing.

The kettle whistled.

Regulus busied himself, making a cup of hot cocoa. As he poured the steaming water into his mug he realized knew what he had to do.

"Regulus," stated a surprised voice. Regulus sloshed the water over the countertop. "Sorry – didn't mean to scare you."

"No matter Barty." With a flick of his wand the hot liquid disappeared. He added the little packet of mix to the water. Regulus wondered if he should tell Barty his plan. He knew Barty would ask why, though, and he didn't have a reason beyond a gut feeling.

"What on Merlin's green earth are you making?" Barty eyed Regulus's mug with a look of disgust.

Regulus stirred his cup. "Hot cocoa. Would you like a cup?"

"No. No, I'm good. I came for some of Narcissa's cookies," He popped a cookie into his mouth, "Delicious," crumbs sprayed from his mouth. Barty grimaced slightly and wiped them off his shirt. "Are you coming along tonight?"

"Unfortunately, no. I have other matters to attend to." Regulus sipped his drink.

"Like what?" Barty pressed, looking suspiciously at Regulus. He leaned against the table and ate another cookie. No, Regulus decided. He could not share his plan with Barty.

Regulus took another gulp of the hot liquid. He could not hesitate in his answer. Barty was clever enough to catch a lie. "I am not at liberty to say, dear Barty. But, I can assure you that My Lord has a special task planned for me."

"Ah. I see," Barty paused and Regulus held his breath, "This task…the one involving a little visit to the Potters?"

This time Regulus smirked. "Something like that."

* * *

James casually walked into the kitchen, casually checked to make sure his wife was still absorbed in her Muggle soap opera, and casually opened the fridge door, looking for ingredients to make a sandwich. Once he was sure that he was, for the most part, concealed from Lily he took his two-way mirror out and urgently whispered for Sirius.

He stiffened as he heard the couch squeak. James relaxed when he heard no other noise.

Sirius's face showed in the mirror rather quickly. "What is it James?" he asked quietly.

"I've got a favor to ask you, Paddy."

"Alright, shoot." James paused and glanced over the fridge door at Lily. He moved a jar of pickles. "What are you doing Prongs?"

"Keeping up my disguise-"

"What?"

"Keeping up my disguise. I told Lily I wanted to make the most amazing sandwich in the world. Anyway, I need you to dig up some info." James moved the stack of single wrapped cheese slices.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "On what?"

"The Shadow." James rolled his eyes, he hated that ridiculous nickname.

"H? James…"

"Yes!" James quickly checked to make sure Lily had not heard his outburst. "Look, were never going to get to the bottom of this if people keep…keep manipulating the situation. I'm going to investigate him on my own – well, with your help too. You've got the means to do it Paddy."

"James, I really don't think-"

"Come on….You owe me Sirius." James frowned as he moved a bottle of mustard behind the container of leftover tuna noodle casserole.

"I – alright James." Sirius sighed, defeated. "I'll see what I can do. Just remember – I don't like this one bit. That boy is dangerous no matter how you slice it – or how much anyone "manipulates" it."

"Thanks Padfoot. I knew I could count on you."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Bye."

"James? Are you still making that sandwich?"

James stood quickly, shoving the mirror into his pocket. "What – oh yeah, sandwich. No. No sandwich. There's uh no bologna."

* * *

They milled around in the lavish foyer, murmuring amongst themselves.

"What say you, Cygnus?" asked a young, dirty-blond Death Eater as he fastened his cloak around his shoulders.

"Well," Cygnus Black began, looking around, "I think I never want to hear about Bella and Lestrange's marital problems ever again. I'm sitting by you next meeting."

"No, you smart ass – about the boy. What's-his-name."

"Oh. Him. Harry, wasn't it? Anyway… I say. I say that the boy – whatever his name is – is a bit off."

"A bit off? You need to stop using that medical jargon around us paupers." Another man said jokingly, smiling slightly beneath his pristine mask. Cygnus shrugged unapologetically.

"Fine then, Mathews; the boy's obviously delusional. Deranged. Bonkers. Whatever you want to call it. Though, I don't think you needed me to tell you that."

"Yes, yes, we know. But, what's _wrong_ with him? You're the healer. What's his diagnosis, then?" Mathews pushed.

"You want me to diagnose him – of course you do, you want me to diagnose everyone. It's hard to say – I'd need one on one time to be able to tell..."

"Alright men – and Bella – Is everyone ready? Come get your Portkeys! We leave in one minute!" cried out Lucius as he brandished a handful of silver spoons in the air.

"Is he dangerous?" asked the dirty-blond as he grabbed a soup spoon and held it in front of him, so Cygnus could grab a hold.

Cygnus paused. "Dangerous? What have you to be afraid of Barty? You've got a wand and he hasn't."

* * *

"What, not out attacking Muggles and Mudbloods tonight?" spat Harry as he struggled against his restraints. They tore into his flesh. Harry wanted nothing more than to kill the man.

"No. I came to help you."

"You? Help me? How." Harry echoed in disbelief, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair.

"Yes," Regulus pulled a small key from his pocket and dangled it in front of Harry's face, "If you promise not to hex me, I'll let you go." Regulus smiled mockingly. Harry kicked at Regulus's leg, but Regulus sidestepped it. "Now, Now. That wasn't very nice. Here I am, trying to help you, and that is how you repay me!"

"I don't believe a word out of your filthy mouth." Regulus looked at Harry with an eyebrow raised before crouching down beside him. "What are you doing?"

"Letting you go," the key clicked softly in the metal rings, "I'll contact you when you're safe again."

Harry stood cautiously, his restraints clattering to the ground, and looked skeptically at Regulus, who remained crouched on the floor and maintained a cool expression. "How will you find me?" he asked, massaging his raw skin.

"You won't be able to stay out of trouble for long," Regulus answered in his flat, monotone voice.

* * *

Dumbledore sat at his cluttered desk, gazing into the golden puffs a few silver instruments were releasing. Fawkes was gnawing on a cuttlebone. The grandfather clock was clicking. Dumbledore felt as if the clock was counting down to doomsday. Change was coming. He could feel it. A bigger change than the one that had occurred at the evening's meeting. After Lily and James walked out an uncomfortable silence had filled the circular room. Luckily, he was a gifted speaker, able to persuade nearly anyone.

He grabbed his quill and began to pen a letter to the infamous "H".

* * *

The heavy door slammed against the wall, shocking the patrons within the room. They looked toward the cause of the loud noise. Regulus stood, panting, against the molding.

"Yes, Regulus?" Voldemort asked as he turned to the wizard, placing his goblet onto the long mahogany table. Judging by the barely covered panic on Regulus's face, Voldemort did not think he would like what the boy had to say.

"My Lord," he began as he dropped to his knees, "my lord – the prisoner; he has es-caped."

* * *

**Dun dun dun! Reviews are appreciated. **


	10. Juliet

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**

* * *

**

_Juliet_

_

* * *

_

"Aren't you going to the Weasley's house, Neville? Molly told me they were celebrating Charlie's birthday today. "

"No Gran," Neville began, somewhat impatiently, "I have…important business -"

"What could possibly be more important than friends, Neville?" His grandmother interrupted. She placed the newspaper on the coffee table and looked at her grandson.

Neville paused, his quill hovering over a piece of parchment dripping small spots of ink on the letter, "Saving the wizarding world, Gran."

* * *

"But mom!" Holly cried, stomping her foot childishly on the wooden floor. She did not care is she was nearly 13, she didn't want to.

No matter what she did though, her mother remained steadfast. "No, Holly."

Holly turned toward her father, her infamous puppy eyes gazing up at him. "Dad?" she asked imploringly.

James shrugged apologetically. "Your mother says no, Holly." And really, who was he to argue with Lily when she was in such an emotional state. Plus, he did know how important this was to her… "This is important to your mother."

"Then why doesn't Nate have to go!" Holly pouted as she crossed her arms. Somehow, Nate always managed to get out of these family get-togethers.

Lily felt the urge to lash out, snap, build inside her, but she managed to keep her calm. She wondered why Holly had to be so difficult all the time. "Because, Holly, he was invited to the Weasley's for a birthday party."

Holly soaked in this piece of information, before stamping her yet again. "But I don't want to visit Aunt Petunia!"

"Me neither," said James from the corner of his mouth. Holly barely managed to stifle a giggle.

Lily glared at him. "Too bad."

* * *

Molly Weasley was baking a cake – a three tiered chocolate cake. They were celebrating Charlie's birthday today, even though his birthday was in the beginning of the month and it was nearly January.

Charlie had just arrived home from Romania two days ago, and she could not keep herself from having a little family celebration. Especially if all of her children were able to attend. The oldest Potter, Nathaniel, was coming also. He was the same age as Ginny. Molly didn't mind that that Dean boy had come instead of Neville. The more the merrier, right?

They were all, with the exception of Bill and the twins, playing quidditch in the meadow. Her husband and brothers were in the family room listening to the radio. Percy was due home at any moment.

Molly laid down her pipette of creamy icing and picked up the serving dish. She carefully skirted around the big table towards the door – they were going to eat outside. She glanced up at her one of a kind clock, to make sure Percy was on his way home. As she suspected, Percy's hand was pointed to "traveling". All the others were, as they had been for the past several years, stuck on "Mortal Peril". Molly turned her attention from the clock to the door.

With a strangled shriek, Charlie's cake plummeted to the ground and splattered across the wooden floor. The dish shattered seconds after.

Her hand grasping at her throat, Molly managed to call only one word. "Arthur!"

* * *

Gideon turned the old radio dial to the International Sports Station. The Wimbourne Wasps were playing the Bigonville Bombers in the semi-final round of the European Cup. He, for one, could not believe that the boys and Ginny were missing this!

"_-Yann Kalmes reverse passes to Christophe Wagner who charges toward Wasp Keeper Garth Adair and he shoots- NO! He passes back to Kalmes, Kalmes dodges a bludger!_

_Adair is struggling to get back to the center of the rings… Kalmes shoots! It's a hard shot…YES! IT IS IN! Bigonville has scored! _

_Ladies and Gentlemen you are witnessing the unprecedented comeback of the century. 15 minutes ago the Bombers were down 20 to 120, but now they have pulled ahead 130 to 120._

_The Wasps defense has taken a beating these last few minutes. They have just called a time out…"_

Fabian let out a low whistle. "Taking a beating all right. Who do you think is going to win?"

Arthur reclined into his old leather chair, fidgeting. "Well, I certainly hope Wimbourne does – only British team in it this year…"

Gideon snorted and leaned against the fireplace mantle. "If they keep this up then they'll be out pretty quickly. Bombers have got an ace seeker."

"Yes, well -" Arthur cut off abruptly as he looked out the family room window. Fabian, confused about the sudden silence, looked in the same direction.

"Is that?" Fabian asked as he squinted into the distance. Arthur nodded dumbly.

"What?" asked Gideon, perking up.

Just then Molly's strangled voice called through the kitchen. "Arthur!"

* * *

Charlie rolled onto his stomach and attempted to get up. He thought he might have sprained his ankle. Nate grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him to his feet.

"You alright, Potter?" asked Charlie. The dark haired boy standing across from him twitched.

Charlie eyed the gash on Nate's head. He'd been hit in the face. Hard. By a branch. Nate coughed violently and wiped the blood from his mouth.

"Just wounded my pride." Nate replied as he wobbled slightly. Dean quickly grabbed him so he wouldn't fall.

Charlie glared at the clever attacker; he used everything to his advantage and completely took them by surprise. He shouldn't have though. Dumbledore had said the boy was dangerous.

"Ron. Get them to the house and get help," Charlie could see his brother was about to object, he knew he wanted to fight too. "On the count of three."

Ron gulped loudly and nodded. He was noticeably pale and had a green tinge. Charlie sometimes wondered how his littlest brother had even gotten into Gryffindor.

"One." He saw Ron position himself in front of Ginny and whisper to her. She barely nodded, her eyes following The Shadow.

"Two." Charlie gripped his wand tightly, mentally preparing himself for a fight to the death, willing to die to protect his family from this monster.

"THREE!" Charlie yelled as he shot of a barrage of stunners and mildly painful curses to distract the boy, The Shadow, while the others ran, Dean pulling Nate, for the cover of the Burrow. Charlie laughed loudly, goading the boy across from him. "My Aunt Muriel can fight better than you!"

* * *

Bill, wondering what all the loud noise and yelling was about, opened his bedroom door and poked his head out. The twins were running past. "What's mom screeching about?"

"Something about evil afoot-"

"-Shadows sucking souls-"

"What? Dementors, here?" asked Bill, straightening up immediately. He knew Voldemort had begun using them, but still…

Fred shrugged. "Don't think so. We heard a lot of noise from outside our bedroom window. Sounded like Charlie-"

"Saw some curses flying too," interjected George.

Bill looked at his brothers before leaping down the steps and charging into the family room. Fred and George were close behind him.

"Oh, Bill!" cried Molly, tears streaking her face, "Quickly – fire the Ministry. An emergency."

Bill didn't have enough time take in the scene around him before he stuck his head into the fire. Though, he could have sworn he saw Nate Potter pale and covered in blood and he heard his sister crying.

* * *

"SIR! Chaos- Chaos at the Weasley's home!" cried the secretary as she flung open his office door.

The minister sipped his tea and shot her an annoyed glance. "Well, I doubt that's unusual Amanda. Hardly concerning enough to interrupt my meeting with Mister Longbottom. " Neville tried to smile, but ended up grimacing. "Now, please leave us Amanda."

"But- Minister! The Shadow! He's – He's-" Amanda flailed, her red hair in disarray. Neville turned to focus his attention on her.

The minister spat out his sip of tea, spraying it all over various important documents and Neville, who did not seem to notice, "The Shadow? He's what, Amanda!"

"He's attacking the Weasleys, Sir!"Amanda cried, wringing her hands.

Neville jumped out of his seat, wand in hand. " Mister Longbottom, _sit down_. Amanda – quickly - deploy a squad, or two, of the Aurors!"

* * *

"HEY!" the boy cried out, shocked at Charlie's outburst. He neatly dodged a stunner and lunged toward Charlie, tackling him to the ground. Yet again, Charlie found himself taken by surprise.

Charlie landed with a painful thud, the air leaving his lungs. His wand lay feet away, stuck in the mud. Having no other option, Charlie grabbed at the boy's face, making him howl in pain. Charlie managed to throw the scrawny boy off him, and began to crawl through the mud to his wand. He sighed in relief when he finally clasped his hand around it. He turned, _Stupefy_ on the tip of his tongue, only to be hit in the face with that goddamn branch.

* * *

"Ron said Charlie is still out there, we have to go help him," Fred stated. He and his brother stood with their father, wands at the ready.

"Arthur – you stay," Fabian stated as he pushed Arthur into a worn chair, "Help your kids; get to the bottom of what happened. Fred, George, you stay too. We'll help Charlie."

"Fabian-"

"No, Arthur. It's dangerous. You…" Fabian faltered, "You can't go out there. What if something happens?"

Arthur nodded mournfully. He understood. He was his family's only source of income, of stability. If something were to happen to him….

Fabian and Gideon grabbed their wands and exited through the kitchen. They ran through the garden to the empty meadow in the woods, where Charlie was currently fighting off that death eater scum.

Arthur gloomily stared after them and silence settled in the room. Bill pulled his head out of the fireplace.

"What happened?" he asked as he looked around him, absorbing the scene.

Arthur looked at him quickly, before turning his attention back to the window. "Fabian and Gideon have gone to get Charlie. He's fighting The Shadow. "

"Charlie's fighting-" Bill stopped, the information sinking into his brain. He didn't know why he was so shocked, it was exactly the type of thing Charlie would do.

"You go help your mother, I have to floo the Potters and Thomas's," Arthur said wearily.

Bill looked at the kitchen table, around which everyone was situated. His normally loud and defiant sister was pale and shaking, leaves in her hair and a gash on her arm. Ron was equally quiet; he glanced at their mother then returned his attention to the floor. Dean was biting his fingernails – a nervous habit. Even the twins looked as if Armageddon was around the corner. Only Nate was acting like normal – trying to defend himself from Molly's obsessive worrying and mothering.

"-No need to inform my parents Mrs. Weasley! They'll be better off not knowing – honestly!" he was saying.

"What happened?" Bill asked again, this time directing his question at Nate, trying to get the full story.

Nate grudgingly took a bag of ice and placed it against his nose. "Long story, Bill."

Bill plopped down into a chair and made a show of reclining and placing his feet on the table. "Try me, Potter."

Nate rolled his eyes, but obliged Bill's request. "That kid – the one the ministry wants to catch – tried to get Ginny," Molly paused slightly, the resumed wiping dirt off of Dean's face, "Then he hit me with a stick. Me, a Potter, defeated by a stick!"

Bill tried not to laugh at Nate's indignant attitude.

Ron looked at Ginny, who was staring blankly at the fireplace, where Arthur was currently calling the Thomas's. "It was a big stick. I thought he was, you know, gonna be down for the count. When Nate pulled Ginny back-"

"What do you mean 'pulled her back' Ronald?" snapped Molly.

"Well, Shadow grabbed her," Ron began slowly, already beginning to regret his decision to open his mouth, "He was, I think, he was taking her to the forest-"

Bill's stomach dropped. His little sister almost kidnapped, taken to the woods, by a monster. Who knows what could have happened? Suddenly Bill was feeling very grateful for Nate's show of Potter defiance.

"Oh Ginny!" Molly collapsed into tears and threw her arms around her daughter.

"I was – am - fine, mom. I promise."

Ron continued with his story. "Anyway- Nate grabbed her and pulled her back. That's how she got those scrapes, she fell into that big thorny bush – the one we used to throw Per- I mean, ehm …. Then Nate told him to leave and Shadow picked up this stick and went to bash Nate in the face. He hit Charlie instead…"

"When did Charlie get there?" asked Bill.

Ron turned red. "I- I wasn't really focused on that Bill! I was getting Ginny out of the bush!"

"So, how did Nate get that huge gash?" asked Bill. Ron only shrugged as he shoveled potatoes into his mouth.

"I told you! I took a branch to the face." Nate cried out, gingerly touching the gash above his eyebrow.

Bill sighed. "So, you got Ginny, then The Shadow went to hit you with ….his stick ("branch!") , branch, but hit Charlie instead. So, when did you get hit again?" Bill propped his elbows on arms of the chair.

"After he hit Charlie," Nate replied exasperatedly, "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Can't we just wait until after the Aurors arrive?"

"Talk about what, Mister Potter?" asked a gravely voice.

* * *

Fabian and Gideon arrived just in time to see the boy hit Charlie in the face with a branch and pick up his wand.

"HEY!" shouted Gideon. Fabien sent his brother an alarmed look. He thought they should have snuck up on him at least.

The boy whipped around, wand pointed at them, his eyes wild. Fabian almost took a step back, but filled with resolve, he did not. Charlie lay on the ground, not moving.

"What do you want?" the boy asked quietly. He moved a step forward. Gideon shot off a warning spell, _Rictumsempra_. It landed in front of the boy, whose eyes widened. He stepped back to his original position.

"We don't want a fight," Fabian began slowly. He had yet to draw his wand. He didn't want to either. "We just wanted to warn you." Gideon struggled to hide his shocked look.

The boy glanced back at Charlie through mud-speckled glasses and fidgeted nervously. He licked his lips. "Go on," he urged.

"Not until you drop the wand." Gideon gestured at Charlie's wand in the boy's hand. The boy did not budge. "The Aurors will be here soon. I don't doubt that they'll bring Dementors-"

"Aurors don't handle Dementors. Regulation* does."

Gideon whispered to Fabian. "As smart as they say then, eh? I was hoping he wouldn't know that." Fabian nodded grimly.

"Can you deliver a message for me?" asked the boy, his breath coming out in little white puffs.

"Only if you drop the wand," Fabian and Gideon said simultaneously.

The boy made no move to drop it. "What if I give you Charlie? He's – I think - still breathing." Fabian nodded his agreement. "I'll…I'll levitate him over to you."

"No," Gideon trained his wand on the boy, "Fabian will get him."

Fabian slowly walked toward Charlie, who was sprawled facedown in the mud, watching the boy for any sudden movement. As Fabian drew closer the boy turned to follow his movements. Fabian squatted, his black shoes sinking deep in the muck. He hesitantly reached out to check Charlie's pulse. "He's still breathing." Fabian heard Gideon let out a sigh of relief.

Fabian levitated Charlie by his side and walked to stand next to his brother.

"What's your message then?" Gideon's voice rang out, echoing through the meadow.

"Tell them…tell The Order I said that I am the only one with the…with the power to vanquish him," the boy wavered for a moment before standing resolved; "I know what I must do."

"Alright," Gideon nodded.

Fabian, with a levitated Charlie still by his side, turned to walk away. Behind him, he knew Gideon was walking backward, keeping an eye on the boy. They got to the entrance of the meadow, a small opening in the trees, before Gideon turned around.

"What an odd message," He stated.

Fabian glanced back at the boy, who was still standing in the mud, watching them. "That's what you're focused on? 'What an odd message'! He _knows_ about The Order, The Prophecy! Not to mention, he went to Hogwarts!"

Gideon stumbled, "What? How do you know that?" He looked over his shoulder toward the direction of the boy.

"He was wearing a Gryffindor socks." Fabian stated, tugging at his own red and gold scarf.

* * *

Petunia Dursley was still as horsey, thin, and stuffy as she had ever been, while Vernon was impossibly larger and more purple-faced than he had ever been.

James sat stiffly on the plastic covered couch, his hands clasped in front of him. He would rather be listening to the Quidditch match right about now. He tried to ignore the unending stare he was receiving from Dudley, and shifted uncomfortably. The plastic cover squeaked and the coach groaned.

Next to him, Lily was calmly sipping on tea.

The lull in the conversation, actually, the lack of conversation, was unnerving. James stammered about for a topic.

"So, what did you think of that Quadpot league being started in London?" he asked. Lily sent him a wide-eyed look and James noticed his mistake seconds too late.

"The Quad-what league?" Vernon asked, his mustache quivering – James was mesmerized – and his face rapidly changing colors. "Some of your…your lots nonsense. Not in my backyard." He mumbled.

Suddenly the fireplace flared to life and the face of Arthur Weasley appeared in the flames. Petunia let out a shriek of terror which, James was sure, caused everyone within a five-mile radius to spontaneously combust. Dudley, in his drug induced stupor, clamored on the back of the plump armchair he was sitting in, only to tip it. This, of course, caused more shrieking . As Petunia was screeching at Vernon to lift the armchair off Diddykins, Lily levitated is enough that Dudley could move from under it, which caused Vernon to bellow more about Freak nonsense and leaving immediately and never returning.

James, in the midst of this chaos, was on his knees in front of the fire receiving a message from a very frantic Arthur.

The flames left the fireplace but the yelling did not stop.

"- OUT OF MY HOUSE AND AWAY FROM MY SON-" James silenced his in-laws with a flick of his wand. Petunia near fainted and Vernon grasped at his neck as if he was choking.

"I'm afraid a situation has arised that needs out immediate attention," he turned to Lily, "I'll explain on the way- Nice to see you again." With a jaunty wave, James grabbed his girls, as he liked to call them, and apparated away, purposely leaving the silencing charm on. It would wear of eventually.

* * *

Auror Savage batted away a paper plane as he prepared to throw. He sat at his desk, feet propped up on the shiny cherry wood, throwing darts at the wanted posters surrounding him. He let out a triumphant yowl when he struck _that boy,_ Undesirable Number One, right between the eyes.

"Savage, Dawlish, Mustang, Tonks," rang out the intercom, a new device being used by the ministry. Savage didn't like it much, but he paid attention as Tonks answered it.

"Auror Tonks speaking. What's happening?"

"Code Yellow, level 7," Savage sat up straighter, and Mustang cracked his knuckles "Deploy to Area 1151 immediately."

"Will do." Tonks ended the conversation and slid her wand into her pocket. She looked at the others as she walked towards the apparition room. "Ready boys?"

Dawlish smiled as he placed his donut on his desk. "Aren't we always?"

* * *

Arthur and Bill jumped up from their spot on the couch. "Auror Mustang."

"Arthur," Mustang said as Arthur nodded tersely. "It seems your family has become entangled in yet another troublesome turn of events. Always in the thick of things, your lot is."

"Unfortunately," Arthur answered shortly.

Aware the Arthur was not going to elaborate, Mustang continued to speak. "Odd. Yes, definitely odd that your names always seem to come up in files, wouldn't you agree?" Mustang paused as he glanced sideways as Nate, "that goes for you Potters' as well. It makes one wonder what exactly you are up to.

"Why, this event, it seems, is the perfect example. Why would The Shadow want to come to your house? Of all places! What have you to offer a Death Eater? Rubber duckies and plugs? No, no. It must be something more."

Arthur pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before fixing Mustang with a hard look. "I do not like what you are insinuating Mustang-"

"Arthur!" Mustang said in faux shock, "I am insinuating nothing. I am merely asking questions typical of an investigation! The facts are this, Arthur, a dangerous man is outside your home for a reason. We need to know why that is."

"If we had any idea, don't you think we'd tell you!" cried out Molly, waving her spatula dangerously close to Mustang's face.

Mustang was grim, "I would hope so, Molly. But," Mustang gestured to the children seated around the kitchen table, "surely they can come up with a suitable reason. Use their powers of deduction."

The children looked back at Mustang, their faces carefully blank. Fred and George simply glared at the old Auror.

"Ah, I guess not. Well, children, if you do not answer I will be forced to-" Mustang was interrupted by a loud bang. Nate had stood and slammed his hands against the table, seething.

"Listen here old man," he began, "we don't have to answer any of your silly questions or defend ourselves against your accusations! My godfather is an Auror. He taught me the laws. Playing a game of quidditch in the meadow isn't illegal, and neither is refusing to answer your questions!"

"Mr. Potter, I was not saying – you needn't be so rash young man! It would simply aid out investigation and handling of this…tense…situation if we understood the motivations of The Shadow. Without that understanding my men could be walking into a death trap-"

"Walking my ass!" Ron yelled, face red, pointing out a window, "Sorry mom; they're just standing there! Tell me, why are they just standing there?"

* * *

"Neville, sit down."

Neville turned to face the Minister, his hand still tightly wrapped around his wand. "No. I want to help-"

"Don't be foolish boy!" Snapped the Minister, "you're attention should be focused on the ultimate battle, not some misguided little pest!"

Neville sneered, he had known this was a bad idea, and threw his hands up into the air in frustration. "Misguided little pest, you say? A man who kills and tortures, nothing more than a pest? What, is Voldemort – Get over it! – Only a bothersome troublemaker? If we – I – don't stop the Shadow we'll have two Dark Lords on our hands-"

"Neville, you are throwing my comment out of proportion!" The minister jumped up from his chair, mirroring Neville, "You, the Ministry, we simply cannot afford to fight this boy! Take down You-Know-Who and the boy will crumble along side him."

"No," Neville shook his head violently, "No. You're wrong. What if the rumors are true? The boy is an heir? Set to take over once his precious father is gone?"

"Nothing but conjecture-"

"Is it? From where I stand, that boy is causing more damage and chaos than Voldemort. He needs to go first; it will weaken them, rid them of their best fighter. I could do it, now! I've fought him before."

"It was a fluke Neville!" Neville gaped at the Minister. "You won because he ran away! You haven't a chance in a real battle - he would slaughter you. He'll be ready for you next time. We can't take that chance, Neville, without you there is no hope, the wizarding world is doomed, and surely, you know this? You can't be that naïve!"

What happened next the Minister had not anticipated.

"You think so? Well, if you have that little faith in my abilities I shall have to withdraw my support," Neville calmly tucked his wand into his sleeve and walked toward the door, "Good evening Minister."

* * *

Savage growled. "A stupid idea, really. They should have waited until-"

"Until the boy could escape?" Snapped Tonks, "Think about it Savage. It's the only way they could do it." Tonks returned to surveying the area around them. "We need to head in that direction. It shouldn't take long."

"Well it's not exactly a foolproof plan, I mean, he can still run can't he?" asked Dawlish. "He could probably go far, he seems like he'd be a quick runner…"

"Yes, he can," barked Savage, "and I don't plan on having to run after him! Let's hurry up and get to the meadow already! I want this over with as soon as possible. " Savage began to walk away from Tonks and Dawlish, complaining all the while.

Tonks jogged to catch up to him. "Well, if you want this to work, I suggest you shut up so we can surprise him!"

* * *

"They, Mister Weasley, are just standing there because they are coming up with a plan of attack. As you can see," Mustang looked out the window, "they are on their way now. I assure you-" Mustang was interrupted by a knock on the door.

George and Fred looked at each other before getting up to answer it. Fred cracked the door open and peered out. He whispered to George, who whispered back. On the other side of the door, a low voice answered. Fred swung the door wide open and called over his shoulder, "The Potters' are here!"

Molly went to the door and ushered the family in. "There is plenty of food dears, oatmeal cookies too; Nate is at the table."

Holly squealed , ran toward the counter and grabbed a handful of cookies. "Thank you Mrs. Weasley!"

"Sorry it took so long to arrive Arthur. We tried to floo, but the connection wasn't working," James said with a sigh as he walked into the kitchen, "Then we tried to apparate from Wilkes Street, but there are wards up everywhere! A right mess! We had to ride the bus to Ottery St Catchpole then walk here. Did you know there are three Aurors heading toward your pitch?"

"That's where the kid is at, Bill had to alert the Ministry" Nate said quietly. Lily rushed over and pulled him into a hug. "Aww, mom! Stop it! I'm fine!"

"James; I am sorry for your inconvenience. They MLE thought it imperative that we shut down all floo and apparition until Aurors could apprehend The Shadow," Mustang stated.

"Mustang, fancy seeing you here. Are you done? I mean, your only job is to alert families of Aurors arriving isn't it? "

Mustang looked around the room, "I dabble in interrogations, James, you know that. I must, if you do not mind, take testimonies. Shall I start with you Bill?"

Bill nodded and glanced at James, "Lets go to another room, so we aren't interrupted." James, seated at the table, and Arthur watched Bill lead Mustang up the stairs to the guest room.

Once he was sure Mustang was out of hearing range James reclined in his chair and looked at Arthur. "Have you called Albus?"

Lily stopped trying to fix Nate's hair and looked at the men. Molly too was paying close attention to the conversation.

Arthur glanced at his wife. "No. We thought it best if Dumbledore does not interfere."

Molly placed more cookies in front of Holly and Ginny. "We may take after your example."

"That's – you don't have to. I just had a – too many – it was-" Lily groped for the right choice of words, but they alluded her.

Molly smiled kindly, "Lily, dear, you were- are – right. And you had every right to tell that man what you thought. Everyone else was, I am sure, thinking the same things. You are brave to stand up and fight for your beliefs like that!"

Lily blushed and thanked Molly. Nate, Ginny, and Dean looked confused at the talk, but didn't ask any questions. They knew better, they never got any answers because they 'weren't old enough'. Ron was sure he knew what they were talking about – Neville always partially filled him in on these sorts of things – but made no motion to show it.

"Has Sirius found anything?" James asked.

"Nothing so far. Says there is barely a paper trail, and nothing from before the Hogsmeade Attack. Bill has been watching the accounts, looking for anything suspicious, and I offered Sirius my help as well."

"What are you talking about? Searching for what?" Lily asked, staring at her husband.

James shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Arthur. "Later, Lils," he said, hoping to pacify her, but knowing such a brush off would do the opposite, "Nothing to explain in front of the kids."

Lily narrowed her eyes but said nothing more.

Fred and George leaned into the conversation, "We are looking too, at the school. Haven't found anything concrete, so odds are he didn't go to Hogwarts. Other than that it's mostly rumors-"

"And what are you whispering about? Plotting, no doubt," Mustang said as he walked down the stairs, Bill close behind him.

"Pranks, Mustang, pranks."

* * *

Tonks spun around, her wand in her hand. "Did someone just call my name?"

Dawlish and Savage looked at her as if she was a parselmouth. "No?"

"Tonks!"

"No! I hear it again! Did you hear it this time?" Dawlish and Savage nodded, looking for the source of the noise.

"Tonks, you great big ponce! Over here!" Tonks turned towards the woods to see Gideon and Fabian, dragging a person, walking along the edge of the forest. "Come help us!"

The three Aurors jogged quickly to the twins. "What happened- Oh Merlin! Is that Charlie? Is he alright?"

Gideon looked at Charlie, who was still unconscious and covered in mud. "We couldn't wake him up. I think, I think he needs to get to St Mungos."

"Did that boy do this?" Savage asked harshly, clenching his fist.

"Yeah. We don't know what happened. He didn't say much. Just let us take Charlie. It was odd," Fabian started.

"That's it? No fight?" asked Tonks. Dawlish was knelt over Charlie doing the basic medical charms they taught in Auror training.

"No nothing. Just a request for some lemon drops, so we said we'd make a delivery for him, you know – best if you play along sometimes. I think he's mad as a hatter. Looked like he had gotten hit on the head." Fabian rolled his eyes, acting as if he could care less. Tonks nodded in understanding, she had gotten Fabian's underlying message. The boy wanted them to deliver a message to Dumbledore.

"Charlie is stable, but it would be best if you got him to a healer pronto. See if Mustang will call a traveling medi-witch to come – anti-apparation wards are up, and the floo has been disabled."

"We'd noticed," Gideon stated dryly. "He was still in the meadow when we left, you should be able to get him."

* * *

Mustang glared at James before turning his attention to the rest of the room. "Bill here has given me a brief rundown of the events, saving the rest of you," he eyed Nate and Ginny, "from questioning as of now. At the trial, of course, you will all need to make your own testimony."

"What trail?" asked George.

"The Shadow's trial. The Aurors are, as we speak, arresting the boy. He will be transferred to Azkaban while awaiting his trial."

"You can't send him to Azkaban!" Cried Molly, "He's too young! It could cause irreversible damage-"

"There has already been irreversible damage done! He is a killer – it is not safe to let someone with his instability to roam free!"

Lily looked sharply at Mustang. "I'm sorry Mustang, but instability? I'm afraid you're going to have to explain what the Ministry knows, or thinks it knows."

Mustang sighed and slumped into an empty chair. "We don't know much." He rubbed his eyes, "but it is safe to assume that the boy is…not right. His actions are disjointed and, according to other testimonies, he seems confused and lost. His insanity makes him dangerous; I know the Minister wishes that they administer the kiss-"

Glass shattered against the wall.

"Ginny!" Molly yelled, shocked. Holly cowered into her mother's side.

Tears ran down Ginny's pale cheeks, put her eyes shown with defiance. "You can't do that!" she yelled, "He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Ginny, do you deny the grief he has caused the families of those he has killed? Do you not believe in the terrorist cult he is a part of?"

"He hasn't! He's innocent! You can't blame him for this! It's not his fault!" Ginny's voice cracked. Her brothers stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Ginny, calm down!" Molly placed a comforting hand on her daughter's shoulder. Ginny shook it off.

"Don't touch me," she said coldly. She pointed an accusing finger at Nate, "You. This is all your fault." Nate shrunk back into his chair. "You attacked him without reason! Because of you he's going to end up in Azkaban!"

"I-"

"NO! He's done nothing wrong! He's done nothing wrong!" Ginny collapsed into her chair, sobs wracking her thin body. Molly, pale and shaking, pulled her daughter into a hug and tried to calm her down.

Nate stare glumly at the tabletop. His head snapped up as he heard Mustang laugh harshly.

"It seems Shadow isn't the only one who needs an evaluation! Smitten with the murderous heir of a Dark Lord! I'd take her to St Mungos if I were you! "

Arthur stood, outraged, "Don't talk about my daughter like that! Get out of my house!"

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. If only you could see the trouble this will cause," Mustang sighed, "I will see you at the trail. James – a portkey back to your home." Mustang placed a book on the table.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore jumped in shock as he felt a series of vibrations. It took him a few seconds to realize that the buzzing was coming from his frog card in his pocket. It had been awhile since The Order had used the cards.

"Yes?" Albus asked the face of Kingsley, who was looking at him from the face of the card.

"Dumbledore – sorry about calling on the card, all floo is down until further notice – but I have some urgent news."

"Yes, Kingsley? What has happened?" His stomach was fluttering, Kingsley's tone and grim expression did not bode well.

"The Shadow has attacked members of the Weasley family. Aurors are on their way now, but until they get their we do not know of any casualties."

Albus nodded. "Thank you for alerting me, Kingsley. Please keep me updated."

Kingsley nodded and disappeared from the card. Albus sank into his plump chair and cradled his head in his hands. This boy caused more trouble than Voldemort himself.

Not seconds after his call from Kingsley did Dumbledore receive yet another message on his frog card.

"Sir?" Neville asked timidly, "I need to speak with you, now, but the floo is down and-"

"Not a problem dear Neville. As soon as you are able, please floo to my office. We have much to discuss."

* * *

James thought that this was the first time in history that The Burrow had been completely and utterly quiet. Ginny had stopped crying and ran up to her room, locking herself in. Ron and the twins were playing with their leftover food. Bill was staring out the window. Nate had retreated inward, refusing to look at anyone. Holly was tightly clinging to Lily's side, her eyes red and puffy.

James cleared his throat awkwardly. "I think it would be best if we leave." Lily nodded stiffly.

They said nothing as they all grabbed onto the book, _Merriam's Tales of Aberly Lane_, and spun home.

It was to James's great enjoyment that he landed feet first on his front lawn. Nate and Holly, however, landed on their faces.

"Inside, quickly, to the family room. It's cold out!" he said, ushering his children off the ground and through the front door.

Nate and Holly sat on the couch, while James and Lily stood in front of the fireplace. James looked at his wife, unsure of where to begin.

"Nate, Holly," Lily said, "today was a difficult day. Holly, I don't think we will be heading back to Aunt Petunia's anytime soon," Holly let out a yelp of enjoyment, "and Nate, we want to know what happened, but we won't pressure you. You just tell us when you're ready, okay?"

Nate nodded slowly.

"Whatever happened, we're proud of you, okay, Nate?" James said, crouching down in front of his son and ruffling his hair.

Nate pushed his father's hand away, "Yeah, yeah. It was nothing, I'm fine."

Holly looked at her brother, "No way! You fought again The Shadow, and look, he cut you! Were you scared? I would have been."

James laughed nervously. " I guess he did get you a little bit. Who healed that?"

"Mrs. Weasley did," Nate cracked his knuckles and stared at the floor. "I guess, I guess I was a little scared. Well, a lot actually. I thought ," his voice cracked, "I thought he was going to kill us all. And, I don't know, it would have been like Dad doing it."

"What?" Lily asked, her eyes wide. James too, was looking at Nate in shock.

Nate fidgeted. "Well. He looked like…familiar. At first I thought he was you Dad. But it wasn't, obviously. Too young to be you. But older than me. I could have sworn I've seen him before. He seems so familiar"

"Of course he looks familiar, Nate. There are wanted posters everywhere with his face on them."

"Holly," Lily said, "time to go to bed."

"What!" Holly cried out.

"You heard me. Time to go to bed," Lily said firmly.

"But mom! It's only six o'clock!" Holly huffed and stormed up the stairs, whining about missing all the good stuff and life not being fair.

Lily watched her daughter stomp off before sitting on the couch. "Nate, you said he seemed familiar. What did you mean?"

James shuffled as Nate answered slowly. "Well, I don't know. I just. I don't know," he shrugged helplessly.

"It's okay sweetie, but this is very important, you need to figure it out-"

"Lily," James interrupted, "leave him, for the time being. He's had a rough day, he doesn't need another interrogation."

Lily opened her mouth to reply, but was beaten by Nate. "I think he knows who you are. Not me, he doesn't know me. He got all twitchy when Charlie called me Potter. I think it surprised him."

He settled into an uneasy silence, thinking of the day's events. He wanted to say more, but he didn't think it was the right time or place.

His father's quiet voice derailed his thoughts. "What else?"

"I – I….think Ginny was right."

"Nathanial-"

"No, mom, listen! I'm not telling you this so you can go off and investigate for yourself, either. Ginny was right. The Shadow wasn't there because of any reason like a Death Eater mission. It seemed like it was his own choice. And he didn't attack us – I went after him first," Nate looked at his feet, ashamed, "I made him attack us."

James and Lily exchanged a surreptitious glance, but it was not surreptitious enough.

"I saw that. Don't do that!" Nate said angrily as he stood up. "Don't treat me like I don't know what I'm saying, like I don't know what's going on! I know perfectly well. None of this 'walking on eggshells' because I can think for myself. I'm going to bed."

And with that Nate Potter headed to his bedroom, leaving his parents speechless in the living room.

* * *

"There he is," whispered Tonks. They were crouched behind a tree watching The Shadow stare into space. None of them dared to move, they did not want to mess up their only chance to catch him.

"I can see you," the boy stated, his voice echoing through the trees.

Tonks looked out from behind the tree. Sure enough the boy was staring at them. She had to think of something quick! "Well, then you know you're surrounded!"

Savage glared at her, but added to her statement, "So put your wand down!"

The boy rolled his eyes. "No."

"He sounds bored!" Tonks hissed in Savage's ear. Savage grimaced.

"Dementors are on their way! If you surrender now, they won't kiss you!" Dawlish yelled. He leaned back against the tree, shrugging at the look Savage was giving him. He figured since Tonks had already told the boy he was surrounded, adding Dementors into the mix wasn't actually that far of a stretch. They waited for a response from the boy.

"It'd be better than kissing your mom!" the boy deadpanned. He shuffled his feet in the mud.

Dawlish looked at Tonks. "Who says something like that?".

Tonk shrugged. She thought it was funny. "No need to be smart, boy!" She yelled, "We'll use force if necessary!"

This time there was no pause, as the boy quickly shot back "I look forward to it!"

Savage growled, "That's enough of this-"

"Don't go doing anything stupid, Savage," Dawlish warned.

Savage ignored him. "I can't wait to get you boy-"

Whatever Savage was saying next was drowned out by the boy's laughter. "I didn't know you were into underage wizards, Savage!"

Tonks and Dawlish snickered into their hands; even they had to admit the boy's comment was funny.

"Let's go. Tonks, go to the right and try to stupefy him, Dawlish and I will go to the right." Savage pointed out the directions, "We'll get him from behind – stop laughing Tonks! – we have more of a chance this way."

Tonks nodded and walked to the entrance of the meadow, her wand held out in front of her.

"This is your last chance. Drop your wand," she yelled, "Or I will attack."

The boy did not move. His wand was hanging limply in his hand. Tonks quickly raised her wand to stupefy him, but before she was able to flick her wand she was struck by a red light.

Dawlish watched, awed, as Tonks fell onto the muddy ground. He crouched and turned to face Savage, "Did you see that? Wordless and wandless magic!"

"I saw it numbskull! I have eyes! Think of what that means for us, if he was able to topple Tonks, one of the best fighters in the MLE."

Dawlish pressed his lips together before glancing sideways at his partner. "Don't lie. This excites you, the challenge."

Savage, for the first time since the death of Proudfoot, smiled. "Indeed."

"Well then, let's go."

* * *

***Regulation = ****Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures**

******Reviews are lovely. I hope I am keeping you entertained. **


	11. Kicks

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

_

* * *

_

Kicks

* * *

They thought him an idiot. He knew he was not surrounded just as well as he knew that Dementors were not on their way.

He glanced at Tonks, who was lying supine in the mud. He felt bad for stunning Tonks, but he knew, with his newfound clarity, it was necessary.

He returned his attention back to the forest. He was more alert than he had ever been before. His eyes wide and the thrill of the fight thrumming through his veins.

Harry watched as Savage and Dawlish – two Aurors he'd met once before – moved between the trees noisily, readying themselves for an attack.

He knew as soon as he saw Fabian and Gideon, Order members he knew were long dead, walk into the meadow. There was no reasoning too it, no way he could have imagined them, just like there had been none for the events in Grimmauld Place. It was then that it all the pieces began to fall into place.

Savage emerged from the trees whooping like a Blackfoot and interrupting Harry's thoughts. He knew he should let the Aurors take him with no fight, then he could properly explain the situation, but every fiber of his being protested the idea. Who would believe him anyway? He would be sent to his death, not given a chance to talk it out.

Harry bit out a bark of laughter. "Oh yes, I see I am surrounded indeed. How ever will I escape?" He didn't know why he was acting this way, egging them on.

With a snarl, Savage slashed his wand viciously in the air and sent a blinding red light toward Harry. A stunner, not unexpected. Harry stepped out of the way of the spell, almost loosing his footing in the mud.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Harry yelled. He watched Savage bat the spell away, another, darker spell on the tip of his tongue.

Behind him, he heard a rushing noise and quickly turned to see what was coming his way. Ropes. Unexpected. So, the stunner had just been a distraction, allowing Dawlish to attack from behind. Sneaky.

Harry ducked under the ropes Dawlish had sent, the twisted fibers grazing the top of his head. Harry was beginning to panic. He had to get away. He urged his heart out of his throat.

The ropes were again rushing towards Harry, this time from Savage's direction. Cruel laughter echoed in the air. Harry rolled in the mud, standing up quickly only to have to jump over another set of enchanted ropes. Breathing hard, Harry had a sudden strike of inspiration. It had gotten him out of trouble once before, so why not now?

Harry backed up in order to have both Aurors, who were crouched defensively on the opposite side of the pitch, in his field of view. Harry could see what he needed just behind them. Harry raised his wand, causing the Aurors to tense, and shouted "_Accio_ broom!"

Harry could have laughed at the looks on the Aurors faces as a broom hopped into the air and sped towards him, successfully hitting an unsuspecting Savage in the back of the head. Then the Aurors ran, chasing after the broom and gaining ground on Harry.

He snatched the broom from the air with an outstretched hand, quickly swung his leg over it, and pushed off the ground. He was not quick enough. Harry felt a hand clasp around his ankle as the broom launched into the air. He shook his leg, trying to get it off. The extra weight hurt, stretching his leg and putting pressure on his joints. Below him, Harry could see Savage dangling in the air, his hand firmly affixed to Harry's leg. With eyes narrowed, Harry flattened himself to the old broom, urging it to go faster and higher. Spells whizzed past his head and Harry let out an uncharacteristic growl of anger. He aimed his borrowed wand at Dawlish and returned a volley of curses.

Savage was yelling, but the wind rushing past Harry's ears blocked out the noise. They were past the treetops now, and Harry knew he had to make a drastic move. Dodging Dawlish's blasts, he turned the nose of the broom toward the ground, putting the broom into a steep dive. The ground was rushing faster and faster toward them, the wind whistling, until Harry pulled up hard on the broom, leveling it off feet above the ground.

Harry winced as the broom gave a lurch as Savage smashed into the ground. He was being dragged now, through the mud and rocks, slowing the broom down. Harry was amazed at the man's iron grip, for he still did not let go.

"Get off!" He practically screeched. Savage sneered.

Harry raised the broom higher, more determined than ever to shake Savage off. Dawlish seemed to have regained his senses and let a barrage of spells of at Harry, whose Seeker skills allowed him to easily maneuver around each.

Harry zoomed past Dawlish, who yelled something indistinguishable to Savage, and into a roll. Savage flailed about, helpless to the momentum of the move. Harry hissed in pain. Savage would not let go. Harry brought the broom back up to his previous height, thinking fast. Savage's his vice grip tightened even more, constricting the blood flow to Harry's foot.

Harry felt another steely hand clamp around his calf, tugging on his jeans, before the pressure around his ankle moved. Harry looked down at Savage, who was trying to hoist himself up onto the broom, his right hand locked around the tail of the broom, and left pushing against his leg. Savage managed to loop his leg around the broom, and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he was on it completely.

Without thinking, Harry kicked out behind him, hard. Savage grunted in pain as Harry's foot connected with his shoulder, but the man pulled himself closer the broom, trying to roll himself up. Harry kicked again, this time missing. Savage reached out and grabbed Harry's shoulder, and pushed himself up, causing Harry to slip and dangle precariously from the broom, his legs and arms still wrapped around. He very nearly lost his wand. Savage, a smug smirk plastered on his bleeding face, had control of the broom now. He reached out to pluck the wand from between Harry's fingers, Harry took this opportunity to bite the offending hand. Savage winced and drew back, causing the broom to swerve wildly, allowing Harry time to pull himself upright.

"End of the line, wizard." Savage had his wand pressed painfully against Harry's throat.

Harry took a deep breath, knowing that Savage wouldn't dare do a thing while still in the air. So Harry did the only thing available. He elbowed Savage in the face. There was a sickening crack and yowl of pain as Savage's nose broke. Harry turned the broom hard to the left, shaking the wizard behind him and nearly sending him off the broom. Savage was now dangling upside down, legs still on the brooms, hand covering his nose and wand on the muddy ground.

Savage let out a bark of mirthless laughter. Harry glanced over his shoulder distractedly, only to see a great plume of smoke billowing from the tail of the broom. Harry did a double take; it was on fire! He didn't have enough time to put it out. He would have to ditch the broom and run.

Harry turned for the forest. Harry heard Savage grunt as Harry flew into the thick mass of trees, swerving around each. He could hear Dawlish's panicked shouts below, sending volleys of unknown spells at Harry. Harry returned the attack from the cover of the trees.

Harry swerved the broom around as he sent a cutting hex toward Dawlish. It sliced his face, drenching it in sanguine liquid. The broom gave a resounding shudder as Savage, still attached to the bottom, slammed into a tree. The man gurgled before he fell limp and plummeted toward the ground.

Harry was relieved to have the man off the broom.

Harry began to choke on the smoke that was filling the trees.

Dawlish was running toward Savage now, firing stunners as he went. Harry lowered himself and shot a jet of water at the flaming broomtail.

Dawlish bent over Savage, looking around him and speaking rapidly. Harry thought _Levicorpus_ and was unnervingly gleeful has he watched Dawlish flail upside-down in the air.

Harry flew over intending to tie Dawlish up. He was surprised, however, to see that Dawlish still had his wand and was still flinging spells. Harry dodged a nasty looking purple stream of light, only to roll right into a confundus charm.

Harry felt the disorientation and confusion wash over him, as if he had drunk too much Firewhiskey. He flew pell-mell through the trees, crashing into branches, trying to get to Dawlish. He veered off course and slammed into an oak tree. Harry cried out in pain as he smashed his injured leg into the hard tree, letting go of his broom in the process. The broom continued forward, out of control, and hit another tree and splintered into pieces. Harry fell, his mind still clouded with pain and confusion. He landed with a thud in the thick muck of the forest floor and sharp pain exploded across his chest. The snapping of twigs and shuffle of leaves alerted Harry to the presence of another.

It was Savage, breathing heavily. "_Petrificus Totalus_." Harry's body went rigid, his limbs snapping painfully to his side. He was sure he let out a pathetic whimper. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was going to happen next.

Several cracks rang through the crisp air. They talked in hushed tones to Savage, who spat a mouthful of what Harry could only assume was blood on the ground.

"What's up Dawlish?" cackled an unknown woman. "Just hanging around?"

A series of chuckles and groans echoed through the trees. Harry opened his eyes. The pain made his head swim.

"What did he use?"

"I think I know. Cunning little bastard, eh?" The voice made Harry's heart skip a beat. He looked for the man.

"Savage! You didn't stun him?" An Auror rushed over to Harry and blocked his field of vision. "Stupid mistake Savage. _Stupefy_."

* * *

The Aurors took down the anti-apparation wards as soon as they had received Dawlish's urgent call for help. The forest was on fire, Savage might be dead, and the boy was going to escape. What a mess.

When they arrived, well, none of them had expected the scene before them.

Smoke clouded their vision. Dawlish was hanging upside-down in the air, a puzzled Savage – who was covered in Merlin knows what – trying to get him down. Not twenty yards away did the offending wizard lay, his body lying straight as a plank.

Sirius Black, the leading Auror of Team 4, quickly went to action. "Mabel, Nott, quick – put out the fire!"

Mabel and Nott nodded before rushing off. Sirius looked around, confused. "Where's Tonks at?"

Savage sent a look at Dawlish, "She's at the entrance of the meadow."

"Faye. You know what to do." Faye nodded and skirted past them.

Auror Yewes cackled shrilly at Dawlish's predicament. She sauntered to him and poked him with her wand, "What's up Dawlish? Just hanging around?"

Aurors Hughes and Kennedy chuckled, while most other groaned at Yewes' awful attempt at a joke.

"Stop poking me with that thing!" Dawlish whispered harshly. The smoke was beginning to clear, Mable and Nott must have put out the fire.

"What, cat got your tongue too?" Yewes smiled.

"This isn't even the appropriate time for that saying! That kid hit my throat with a _reducto_. He's got good aim." Dawlish hacked violently.

"What did he use," asked Kennedy, "to get you upside-down?"

"I think I know," said Sirius answered. He had used this spell before, with James. "Cunning little bastard, eh?"

The Aurors heads snapped towards the sound of a gasp. The boy.

"Hear that? He awake?" whispered Yewes, turning with her wand outstretched toward the boy.

Hughes rushed over to him. "Savage! You didn't stun him?" Hughes knelt over the boy, looking him over. He looked back at the group and Savage grimaced. "Stupid mistake Savage. _Stupefy_."

Hughes grabbed the wand from the boy and gave it to Sirius. "You get this back to Charlie then, okay?"

Sirius nodded and watched as Hughes put magical inhibiting handcuffs on the boy, ensuring that he could not escape.

Sirius turned from the boy; he could not look at him. "Right, well. Let's get to work –Savage, you should take a seat, you look horrible- I'll get you down Dawlish ol' boy, no worries. Everyone, stand back," Yewes and Savage stepped away from Dawlish, "_Liberacorpus._"

Dawlish fell to the ground face-first. He made an odd coughing sound before glaring at Sirius."Gosh Black! Couldn't you have warned me?"

Sirius laughed. "Not a chance! Clever kid he must be, to use that spell."

Dawlish smiled sheepishly. "He almost had us, again. 's got some pretty nice moves…. For a – you know – kid. Criminal. Shadow. Whatever they call him these days. " Dawlish rubbed his throat.

Savage snorted form his position on the forest floor, "The boy thinks himself witty too."

Dawlish's laughter was joined by another's – Tonks'. Sirius couldn't help but feel he had missed some sort of joke.

"Finally arrived to help us then, Tonks?" Savage snapped.

Tonks, escorted by Nott, Mable, and Faye, blushed and hid her head in her hands. "Don't be so moody, Savage. I can't believe I was taken out so early. I didn't even get to do anything!"

Sirius was barely able to keep his eyebrows form flying into his hairline. To take out Tonks so early was not an easy feat.

"We can chit-chat when we get back to the ministry!" Savage growled, as he always does. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"You two should side-along. We don't want you getting even more injured. Hughes, you bring that boy. "

The Aurors spun on their heels, the 3 D's coming to their minds, and apparated away.

* * *

Dawlish sighed as he leaned back against the crisp white sheets of the Health Ward. He was on strict orders to rest for a week and speak as little as possible. His throat ached and his cheek stung.

He glanced at the closed curtains to his right, where Savage was currently talking to a medi-witch. He could only imagine the horrible treatment Savage was receiving, his injuries had been far worse. It was such a Gryffindor move, jumping onto the boy's broom like that.

Tonks had somehow managed to avoid anything more than a quick physical. He watched her slip out through the doors more than an hour ago, chatting seriously with Black about some sort of meeting and a message. Dawlish was certain he had never seen Black so somber.

Dawlish dared to look at the bed that was five down from his. He could see the steady rise and fall of the boy's stomach. Mustang had insisted that the boy be treated here, not at St Mungos or St Florence, the lesser-known wizarding hospital.

He had felt unsafe at first, with the boy in the same wing as them, but now, looking at him, Dawlish felt a surge of pity. From here he would go to Azkaban, where he would be held until his trial.

He was strapped down to the bed – just in case – and surrounded by the most advanced wards. He was receiving Muggle treatment for his wounds – broken ribs, injured ankle, crushed wrist, concussion - as wands and potions were not allowed near him; it was too dangerous.

* * *

"James, Lily," James jumped, knocking his chess pieces clean off the board as Sirius's voice rang out from the fireplace. Nate laughed loudly before Lily told him to clean up the mess.

"Merlin! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"James cried out.

"What is it mutt?" Lily asked playfully, coming to stand next to her husband. The smile fell from her lips as she observed Sirius's somber mood.

"I know you said you didn't want to be in The Order anymore, but, you need to come. Now. Something has come up…about the prophecy."

* * *

**Thanks for reading, please review!**


	12. Laments and Laughter Part 1

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**

* * *

**

_Laments and Laughter Part 1_

_

* * *

_

Albus Dumbledore sat wearily in his chintz chair, wiping his half-moon glasses clean of any smudges. "You said he had a message that he wanted you to deliver?" he asked as he replaced his glasses.

"Yes," Fabian nodded, wringing his hands. Fabian was, for some reason unbeknownst to Albus, nervous. Albus had no doubt that whatever message the elder twins delivered, the new information would be very revealing. He had gained nothing from sending his letter; the boy had yet to respond.

"Well...don't let me stop you," Albus waved Fabian and Gideon to continue. They were stalling for time, time that was not available. He was growing weary of the recent games going on within The Order, the cliques and the undermining of authority. This was a war, bordering on genocide at times, and they were playing like little schoolboys.

"Well," Gideon said, glancing at his twin brother, "We really think that everyone needs to be present for this."

Albus quickly thought over Order members present, all were here. He gestured around the room with an open hand, "Everyone is."

"_Everyone_," Gideon emphasized as he leaned against the mahogany desk, dirtying it with a spattering of twigs and leaves he had yet to remove from his sweater, "Sir. It concerns the prophecy-"

"The Prophecy?" Sirius interjected, shooting comically out of his seat, his blue eyes wide. "I think Lily and James need to hear this, then."

Minerva sputtered indignantly at Sirius. "And why should they? They left, and the prophecy has nothing to do with them-"

"Headmaster – uh, Albus," Remus piped up from his usual position against the windowsill, "If Fabian and Gideon insist, then they really should be here. I mean, you said it yourself, back then there were two possible children – and if James and Lily hadn't lost-"

"I'll go get them," Sirius said, cutting smoothly over Remus, "I'll apparate. I need some, I don't know, air," he babbled as he walked out of the room, knocking over a lamp on the way. Albus narrowed his eyes. This jittering and anxious movement was unusual for the normally graceful Sirius.

Arthur, still pale and shaky from the earlier ordeal, caught the lamp before it shattered to pieces. As Remus helped him get it back on the tiny table he said, quietly, "Neville should be here too, then."

That was it. Albus felt he had to put his foot down, regain control. "No, he's too young to-"

"No, sir, he isn't," Albus stared at Fabian, whose voice was unusually harsh, "He needs to be here too. He can't be babied forever. He needs to know the truth. "

Albus was far outnumbered, even Minerva was nodding her head in agreement. "Very well. Benjy, floo Madame Pomfrey and tell her to send Molly up, I am sure she wants to hear this also." Albus, having stood during Fabian's outburst, sunk wearily into his chair.

* * *

Sirius kneeled by the fireplace in his tiny apartment chewing on his lip. How did he bring this up? He thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and plunging his head into the green flames.

"James, Lily," he cried out. He could see James jump in surprise, fear, and knock over the chess board. Nate laughed gleefully before cringing at Lily's declaration of "No dessert!" if he did not help clean up the mess.

"Merlin! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"James cried out, dramatically clutching his hand, full of black chess pieces, over his heart.

"What is it mutt?" Lily asked playfully, coming to stand next to her husband. That woman was always smiling, Sirius thought. He watched her smile slowly slide off her face. It was now or never.

"I know you said you didn't want to be in The Order anymore, but, you need to come. Now. Something has come up…about the prophecy."

"Nate, go upstairs." Lily said as James sunk to his knees and crawled closer to the fireplace.

"About…the – the prophecy? Us? We thought…we thought it didn't concern us. Not anymore." Sirius, looking at James' pale face, very nearly felt horrible about this fuss.

"Fabian and Gideon, they have news concerning the Prophecy. They wish for everyone to be present – you two included."

"Sirius," Lily began, her face stern, "I don't know if that's a good idea. The Order-"

"The Order-smorder Lilykins!" Sirius cried out. "This could be life or death! This could explain everything! Don't you want answers? Listen…you don't need to rejoin, and sure things may be a little tense, but it will be closure, at least a little bit."

Lily and James shared a long, sickening (in Sirius' opinion) lovey-dovey look. "Fine. We'll listen, but as soon as Dumbledore tries to rerecruit us, we are gone. Understand?"

"Yes, very clearly Lily. I'll see you very soon in the ol' meeting place then!" Sirius gave a cheeky grin as he ended his call.

* * *

Hermione pressed her ear harder against the door. "This is useless, we'll never hear anything." She slumped against the cold stone staircase, the invisibility cloak – borrowed from Nate – slipping off her shoulders. "What do you think they're talking about?"

"Something big-"

Hermione rolled her eyes, slightly bothered by the younger girl for some unknown reason. "Obviously, Luna. I bet it has something to do with whoever was brought into the infirmary. "

Luna was about to respond when Neville, his footsteps surprisingly soft as he ran up the stairs, nearly stumbled over the group.

"Hey you guys!" Neville cried out happily, panting heavily. He seemed relieved to have found them. "I – I have some news." He leaned against the wall, catching his breath, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"Well, go on! Out with it!" Hermione said impatiently. She, as she always did when nervous, wrung her hands.

Neville took a deep breath of air, as if preparing himself. "The Shadow attacked The Burrow."

"What?" Hermione nearly screeched, launching off the step, as Luna worriedly asked, "Is everybody okay? Oh dear, how could something like this happen?"

"I don't know," Neville shrugged, "I just came from the Min-uh mini golf tournament."

"The what?" asked Luna. Her pale eyes were wide and scanning. Hermione too looked confused, even skeptical.

"Muggle thing. Good PR. Doesn't matter," Neville batted away Luna's question with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, that's why Ginny and Ron aren't here. They got some scratches and whatnot….So, what's happened so far?" Neville plopped down on the step, wriggling his way in-between Luna and Hermione.

Hermione sighed, worry etched onto her face. "Nothing, they're probably talking about that attack-"

Hermione suddenly cut off as the door swung open, revealing a somber looking Dumbledore.

He looked down his nose at the trio, smiling slightly. "Neville, please join us." Neville, his face red at being caught trying to eavesdrop, shuffled through the door, which was unceremoniously slammed shut.

As Neville entered the room, Sirius Black and Lily Potter stepped gracefully out of the fireplace, James rolling out of the fire behind them . He stood quickly and dusted off his shoulders before turning to face Dumbledore, who had stood in surprise.

"Sirius filled us in. We, we decided we'll hear this out, and work with the group when necessary, since this mess obviously involves us in some way." Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"Sir?" Neville asked quietly as he looked up at Dumbledore, who had returned to his position behind his desk. Dumbledore did not answer immediately, and Neville became more and more nervous, shifting from foot to foot, as the Order members stared relentlessly at him. "What's going on?"

"What do you know of The Prophecy, Neville?" asked Dumbledore quietly. James Potter, Neville noticed, turned to watch the professor very carefully.

"I…well…I have to kill him, don't I? I'm the only one who can. Ever since I heard the full prophecy…" Neville stated as he sank into a chair, nervously looking around. Out of the corner of his eye, Neville thought he saw Fabian and Gideon exchange meaningful glances with James Potter.

Gideon shuffled. "Funny you should mention that bit about killing him, Neville." Several others shuffled, there were whispers. What was this about? "What else do you know?"

Neville shifted in his seat and ran a finger down his scar, a nervous habit, "Well, I uh V-Voldemort chose me- marked me- Professor Dumbledore sir, when I said I needed to speak with you, this isn't exactly what I meant."

Albus raised his hand placating. "All in due time, my boy, until then we must talk of the prophecy. I'm sure this discussion will answer some of your questions."

"What else is there to say about it, sir?" Neville nearly snarled. He was fed up with being pulled along like some precious little weapon.

"Neville," James said slowly, "we've got some information about The Prophecy that I – we – think you should know."

Neville glanced at Dumbledore, who did not look happy. "Yes?" he asked uncertainly, returning his gaze to James.

"Do you know who else the prophecy may have applied to?" asked James Potter, an odd look on his face.

"No sir." The silence in the room was deafening. It pounded against Neville's ears. No one spoke for a long time, only stared into their hands or at the floor.

James cracked a weak, weary smile. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have." Neville look questioningly at Mister Potter. "You see, Neville, the other person…he, if he lived…." James faltered and looked away. Neville could not bring himself to make a peep of noise. "Did you know that Lily and I once lost a child, Neville?"

Neville had not known this. "No, I – I did not." He glanced at Mrs. Potter quickly. Her eyes were shiny.

"He would be your age now if he had lived. Same birthday and everything." Neville felt his stomach churn, could it be? "It could have been him with that scar, Neville. But, he – Harry, his name was Harry - was stillborn and Voldemort, by default, chose you." The somber mood wrapped itself around Neville like a blanket, an itchy woolen blanket that makes you writhe and squirm and you hate it with a passion you've never felt before.

"I'm-I'm so sorry," he managed to croak out. And he was truly sorry for the Potter's loss, but deep down he felt the boy was blessed, able to escape from a horrible fate.

"But recently," Gideon piped up, "as recently as yesterday afternoon, might I add, Fabian and I were given a message, concerning the prophecy, to deliver to The Order – whose existence he is very well aware of. It seems that Harry and Neville," Gideon addressed the attentive crowd, "were not the only ones the prophecy applied to."

Albus looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"The Shadow," began Fabian, "said, and I quote 'I am the one with the power to vanquish him, I know what I must do.'" Again, whispers rippled through the room. Neville felt a shiver go down his spine and his stomach began to roll uneasily. That monster was claiming he was the only hope for Wizardkind?

"Do we know, for sure, that this prophecy is the one he is referring to?" asked James.

"That's…he knows the prophecy!" Neville shouted at James. "It's an exact phrase! There's nothing else he could have been referring too!"

"Indeed Mister Longbottom. And the question is how does he know it?" Albus asked quietly. "Obviously," Dumbledore addressed the group, "The Shadow has more information than previously thought. It is now imperative to discover his true alliances, the depth of his knowledge, and if possible persuade him to our side. Until then, I believe we have all had enough excitement for one night so I shall dismiss this meeting. I will contact you within the week with a new date."

* * *

"James," Called Sirius down the hall. He grabbed James by the sleeve and pulled him close. "I've been digging stuff up on this kid – or at least trying too, but he has no paper trail. At all. He's practically none existent."

"Oh, well-" started James as he took his arm back and straightened his sleeve. He glanced at his wife, who was ahead of them walking through the Great Hall talking to Tonks.

"So I was thinking, his interrogation…" Sirius smiled sneakily.

James pushed his glasses up his nose and smirked. "Yeah?"

"I, your best friend, may be able to get us front row seats."

* * *

"-Dawlish and Savage ended up with several broken bones, some bleeding, smoke inhalation. Nothing life threatening.

"And the boy, Nott?" Voldemort asked, twirling is wand in his long fingers.

"Did a considerable amount of damage my lord. Set the woods on fire."

A sick grin spread over Voldemort's thin lips. "How…entertaining." Nott nodded, his hood bouncing up and down creating eerie shadows in the candle-light. "How is he?"

"He's well, sir. He is currently being held in the MLE Health Ward, under non-magical observation. Word is he is going to be transferred to St. Mungos soon, for psychological evaluation."

Voldemort nodded and tapped his finger against his chin in thought. "Rackner, you will be doing the interrogation, yes?"

The man Voldemort addressed, Rackner, stepped forward, his steps uncommonly quick for a man of his considerable size. "Indeed, my lord," Rackner knelt, "He will be awoken in two weeks time, when we shall question him. Everything is in place – Black at the hospital, Rosier in the court. Now we wait."

* * *

"Any news?" asked Dean Thomas.

Seamus' attention had been captured also. He shoveled more potatoes into his mouth. "What's that headline – is that The Shadow? Right scary picture that is! He looks our age…"

"Hermione, what's the article say?" asked Lavender.

"It says – It says that he's been caught." Hermione stared wide-eyed at the paper. "He attacked The Burrow – Neville told us that, everyone was okay – and they caught him."

"Finally! We can't have brutes like him running around. I'm glad the ministry is finally taking steps to protect the public!" yelled Lavender at the same time Dean replied "Yeah, I was there. I didn't know he got arrested-"

Hermione snapped her attention to Dean. "You were there! What happened?"

"Sh! Get the group together – six tonight? – We'll tell you all about it then. Now, what's that article say?"

"It says – _On December 27th at 5pm, the savage wizard known only as The Shadow attacked the Weasley family home, with the intent to murder the family and guests attending a party. However, thanks to the quick thinking of Nathaniel Potter, 15, son of James and Lily Potter; Dean Thomas, 16; and Ron (16) and Charlie (24) Weasley, the family was spared a few moments of safety, in which they quickly contacted the Department…_ok ok, here it is_…_

_The Shadow did considerable damage to the property, including setting a fire that burned over 73 acres of protected forest and threatened local Muggle families. Obliviators also had their hands full, having to obliviate 17 Muggles who said they witnessed an aerial "broomstick battle". It took three teams of Aurors to capture the elusive dark wizard. He is currently being held at an undisclosed location. His trial is set for January 28th. _That's it. That's all they say. It goes on to talk about proper emergency floo usage."

* * *

Harry coughed. He could not breathe. His eyes snapped open. Something was obstructing the air flow. He gagged. He could not breathe. He began to panic, grab at his throat. He could not reach. A rough hand pushed him back onto the bed. Another held his jaw. Harry struggled in vain. He nearly lost the contents of his stomach as he felt it – whatever it was – move up his throat and out. Harry shut his eyes tightly, and he coughed several times more.

"How are you feeling?" asked a cruel, cold voice.

Harry squinted against the harsh light. "Ungfh." Harry's mouth felt like cotton and his tongue was two sizes too big.

"His large vocabulary ceases to amaze me, brilliant one he is – open your mouth."

"Water-" Harry gasped, clutching at his throat. His hand stung and felt restrained. The beeping in the background sounded in time with his throbbing head.

"After I take your temperature, now open your mouth." Harry did not open his mouth. He pulled his sheets tighter around his body, willing himself to hide completely in the safe cocoon.

"Sir, if you do not open your mouth I will be forced to use other…openings to take your temperature."

Harry opened an eye, squinting into the white light, and glared at the nurse. "How can you even threaten people like that?" His voice was raw, he felt as if a tube had been shoved down his throat.

She smiled wickedly. "I haven't got a soul," she stated as she shoved the thermometer into Harry's mouth. Harry complied with the nurse's request.

Thermometer under his tongue, Harry watched the red mercury rise, then still. The nurse pulled it from his mouth with a huff. She held a glass of water to his lips; Harry drank greedily, trying to grab the cup, but finding his hands restrained.

"How long have I been here?" He asked as he observed the silver handcuffs holding him to the bed.

"About two-weeks," she answered as she poked and prodded him, adjusted the Muggle IV attached to his arm, and reading machine printouts of something or other. "You are fit enough to speak to Aurors. They will be in shortly."

"Wait!" Harry cried out, but the nurse ignored him as she walked out of the white room.

Harry stared at the walls trying to make sense of his current position. They thought him dangerous.

"Sir, it's time for you to leave." The nurse pulled back the white curtain around his bed revealing two giant Aurors and a wheelchair.

Harry looked at the chair in dismay. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

Harry shrugged helplessly, his hands splayed out toward the chair. "This is really- this is just-"

"Degrading? Humiliating?" asked the nurse, with more enthusiasm than she should have had, Harry thought.

"Yes!" Harry said, eyeing the chair with disgust. He could walk.

An Auror laughed. "Good," the Auror said as he uncuffed Harry's hands from the bed, only to attach them together. The other grabbed the IV stand. "Now, get in." He shoved Harry into the chair and began to roll him to what Harry could only think of as infinite doom.

* * *

"What time does this thing begin at?" James asked, glancing at his watch. Sirius peeked over his shoulder and read the clock face.

"6:28? Should be beginning in two minutes. Take a seat, mate!"

James felt bile rise in his throat as he watched the red-cloaked Auror wheel the boy in. Next to him Sirius stiffened slightly, his eyes watching the boy's emaciated form intently.

"Name?"

"Harry Po- do I have- really?" asked the boy distractedly, he was squinty rather badly. James wondered where the boy's glasses went. "My name? You don't know who I am?"

Sirius, his face nearly pressed against the glass they were hiding behind, snorted. "What an arrogant prick! Reminds me of you," he added cheekily. James shook his head and returned his attention to the interrogation.

"Oh, we know who you are-" snarled the Auror.

Harry looked sharply at the man. "Then you know my name."

"That we do not. We know you by your actions," the Auror pointed at him, as him to bop him depreciatingly on the nose, "Name?"

The boy sighed and his shoulders sagged. He looked weary, older than he should have. "Harry Potter."

"Potter?"

"Obviously," the boy's – Harry's- voice had a hard edge to it. He leaned back into his Muggle wheelchair, as if he were lounging next to a pool.

"Next question, then. Birth date?"

"July 31, 1981." James heart jumped and Sirius' face, if it was possible, seemed to press further into the glass.

James shifted uncomfortably in his seat, which he had taken up residence in over an hour ago, though it did not seem like such a long time. He was, however, after the Aurors relentless questioning on the boys past – parents are dead (won't say who, only shrugs), lives with Aunt and Uncle, goes to Hogwarts; all are obvious lies, though he adamantly believes them, hence the repetitive nature of the questions – James was beginning to get bored. No matter how hard he tried to pay attention through the second round of questions, each the same as the first, James' mind wandered to dark and fathomless depths. He sat, instead, brooding, thinking about the slight possibility that, the boy, through some unnatural turn of events - but no; James would banish these painful and ridiculously far-fetched thoughts almost immediately, only to find they would resurface within minutes.

"James!" Sirius nudged him, jolting James from his trance, "They're starting the good questions now."

Sirius had, somehow, been able to maintain focus through the torturous session, absorbing everything the boy said. Every once in awhile he would mutter "he's mad" , or snort at a particularly witty remark.

"Where we're you the night of the Hogsmeade Attack?" asked the Auror as he paced around Harry.

Harry hesitated, his hands twitching in his lap. "In Hogsmeade."

"Doing what?"

"Having tea – look, I realize this sounds bad, but I didn't have anything to do with that attack." The boy ran his hands through his hair desperately.

"Witnesses say you dissapparated with Death Eaters-"

"Doesn't mean I am one! Look at my arm- Look!" Harry yelled wildly, lunging forward across the table, ripping out his Muggle IV and probably a few stitches, with his sleeve pushed up, revealing a bare forearm. Two giant men grabbed Harry by his arms and pulled him off the table and back into his metal chair. James, accidently, let out a squeak of fright.

"Why would I do that Mister….Potter?"

"Do you see the mark? Do you!" Harry howled, blood soaking his hand and splattered on his face, and fought against the mens' restraining grips, "No! Because I'm not a bloody death eater!"

The Auror turned a paper, waiting for Harry to calm down. Sirius, like James, sat wide-eyed as they watched the seething young man.

"Mister Potter. Where were you the night of the Hogsmeade Train Massacre?"

The boy's head snapped up as if he was shocked. "The what?" James exchanged a loaded glance with Sirius.

"Mad" Sirius muttered, running his hand through his hair.

The Auror glared at Harry. "The Hogsmeade Train Massacre."

"I-I've never heard of it. I don't know."

"Where were you when these events transpired!" roared the Auror, slamming his hands down onto the metal table with a resounding bang.

"I don't- Look, I already answered this question-"

"Not truthfully."

"What? Yes! Yes I did, have been! Give me verisitium if need be!"

James watched relentlessly as the boy refused to answer any more questions. He sat stiffly in his wheelchair staring at a spot over the shoulder of the Auror. Every so often the Auror would ask a question which would cause Harry's jaw to twitch, or make him flicker his steely gaze at the other man before it returned to gaze at the spot on the wall. Suddenly the boy collapsed, his shoulders slumping as if all his hopes and dream, too weighty, had broken his spirit.

"What's the matter Potter?"

"I just want to go home."

"Where is home?"

"I don't know. I used to think – no. I don't know anymore. Away. Away is home for now."

"I can tell you where your home will be, Potter," the Auror said, not unkindly. James looked inquisitively at Sirius, who only shrugged. "St. Mungos."

The two men watched as Harry was rolled out of the cell. For a split second the boy's eyes had looked toward the two-way wall they were hidden behind before he was pushed through the threshold.

James scrunched his face in concentration. "That was...odd."

"James-" Sirius began, murmuring into his finger that he had pressed against his lips in thought, "I have a confession." Sirius sighed loudly and turned to face James.

"Sirius," James smiled playfully, "Now is not the time to profess your undying love to me…"

"No no no!" Sirius shook he head vigorously. "Not that. This time, at least. That kid…he – I think he-"

The door flung open, bouncing off the wall with a resounding bang. "Black, Potter, are you to take the Floo or Portkey?"

"Floo," James answered for both of them. The man who had interrupted them nodded and closed the door. James returned his attention to his best friend. "What were you saying Padfoot?"

Sirius pressed his lips together. "Never mind."

"You sure?" James asked slowly as he scrutinized his friend.

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius sounded as if he was trying to convince himself instead of James, " Let's go, we have to tell the Order." Sirius clapped James on the back and headed out the door.

"Not everyone," James called after Sirius as he slung his coat onto his arms.

"Right, not everyone!" Sirius barked back, a crooked grin plastered on his face.

* * *

"So, now that everyone one is here – sorry for the short notice – we have some news." James and Sirius stood in the entrance to the kitchen of Sirius' tiny apartment, looking around at the pale faces seated at the table. "Charlie! Glad to see you are all right. You gave us quiet the scare!"

Charlie, still looking a bit raw and pained, grinned from his seat. "I owe it all to my dearest Uncles! I heard you boys had to bargain hard to get me out of the grasp of The Shadow," Fabian and Gideon waggled their eyebrows, "Speaking of which….He's the reason you called this meeting, right?"

"Indeed," began Sirius. He set his goblet onto the table. "This is highly classified information; it cannot leave this room. You were called because we trust you. You mustn't mention this meeting to anyone, nor any of the information you are about to receive.

"This is because, as you all know, tensions between Order members has greatly increased after James and Lily's departure, breaking into factions. Those who agreed, and those who did not. What use is The Order when we are not a united front? Those of us in this room – we are the ones who refused to be manipulated and lied too, we are the ones who see the truth. Together we will find out the truth of The Shadow, a boy who has managed to tangle communications and cause more chaos than the Marauders."

"Sirius and I have decided to form a new group, a group dedicated to finding out this truth – whatever it may be. Here, we will not be used and lied too. Our emotions will not be toyed with. But it must remain a secret. More secret than The Order. Not even rumors can be heard. Now, who's in?" James watched as the individuals at the table slowly raised their hands.

"Right, that's everyone then? Good, good. Sign here then take your coin." Sirius passed out gold Galleons to the new members. "They're quiet the nifty piece of work, similar to those Hermione created for the D.A, only you can speak to other members through them also – like those frog cards The Order uses."

James waited for everyone to settle before beginning. "Right," he clapped his hands together, "now that all that is out of the way, let's begin! As you all know, Sirius and I were at the interrogation of The Shadow– or Harry Potter, as he calls himself." The group exchanged glances. "We think….we think there is something very, very, strange about this whole situation, and what we witnessed only supports our beliefs."

"There are several inconstancies that cropped up that we think you will find interesting!"

"First," James began, "is of course the most obvious. His 'name'. Harry Potter."

Sirius fluttered around the room. "Second is the boy maintains that he is not a Death Eater, nor a friend of our dearest Dark Lord, but an advocate of Dumbledore – whom we all know the boy has had no direct contact with."

"Well…" Lily began shyly. "Dumbledore may have tried to contact him…." The group stared hard at Lily.

"You didn't think to tell us of this?" Asked Tonks. "Dumbledore didn't think to-"

"That is why we have formed this group dearest cousin. Now, go on Lily-flower. How have you come across this most intriguing of information?"

"He wrote a letter to the boy. I saw it on his desk and I, well, I took it."

"You stole it?" James asked, mirth in his hazel eyes.

"Well. Yes. Yes, I did. And I have it with me too!" Lily threw the letter onto the tabletop.

James pulled it in front of him. "We'll read this later, we still have things to tell you lot. Third, he knows the prophecy, as Fabian and Gideon informed us earlier. Last, and most important thing, the boy – Harry- has never existed. There is no paper trail, his name is not on the Hogwarts book-"

"He never went there?" Asked Fabian who had turned a garish green color.

"Never." Sirius said as he shook his head.

"But, we saw, Fabian and me, he was in Gryffindor. His socks were Gryffindor colors. And he's had to of had some training in magic-"

"And Savage did tell me the boy flew very well, as if he'd played a lot of quidditch growing up," added Tonks.

"That," Sirius slammed his fist onto the table, startling several people, "That is what we are talking about. Does any of this make sense to you? Dumbledore perceives him – who has never existed! - as a threat, but everything the boy had said today shows his complete loyalty to him. He's an anomaly. There is more too this, and we need to find out."

"I think now would be a good time to read that letter," stated James.

" _H_- " Lily began to read.

"_It has come to my attention that you are a man of innumerable talents and much daring. Why, I feel you would find yourself at home in the house of Gryffindor. Alas, our paths have not crossed in such a pleasant way. As you well know, there are people after you. Your luck has been exponential, but it shall soon run out. I shall cut this letter short, then, as I am sure, you are growing impatient. You are fighting for the losing side, a side that only serves to oppress your skills. I am writing you today to come to an agreement. For your knowledge of Voldemort's inner circle, I offer you protection. It is a dangerous task, but I have no doubt a wizard of your caliber will be able to perform it. Please respond as soon as possible, the letter will find the way._

_-Albus Dumbledore_"

* * *

The Healer, Cygnus Black according to the name tag on the man's robes, was leafing through Harry's file rather casually as he walked to Harry's bedside. He looked up at Harry after a moment, his eyes lingering on the ugly casts on his limbs instead of the scare on his forehead, before grabbing a chair and sitting neatly into it. "Why Potter?" He asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"What?" Harry's voice cracked embarrassingly and he squirmed uncomfortably.

"Why choose the name Potter?" Cygnus, thankfully ignored Harry's voice crackage and gestured with his hands, "I mean you certainly bare a resemblance-"

"That's because I am one," Harry cut off Cygnus, already thoroughly annoyed.

"Of course you are-"

"Don't act all condescending about it! I am!" Harry snapped, leaning toward Cygnus as much as he was able to. He did not want to rip stitches, or an IV out of his hand, again.

"My apologies Harry, I did not mean to come off that way. Please, sit back so you do not pull stitches. Date of birth?" Cygnus was writing something in his file as he said this.

"Can't you just, I don't know, look at the file in front of your face?" Harry asked. He leaned back against his fluffy pillow and stared straight ahead into the desolate blankness of the white walls.

"Yes, but you need to verify. Just in case."

Harry repeated dully, "Just in case."

Cygnus looked up at Harry. "Harry, I'd rather this not be difficult. We have a week together, to work towards a proper diagnoses and lessening your sentence. "

"I haven't done anything wrong! Everything is just – it's so different!"

"We can talk about all this Harry, and we will, but I still need to verify your birth date."

Harry nodded. "Right. July 31, 1981."

Harry, despite his initial revulsion found himself liking Healer Cygnus. He was easy to talk to, a great conversationalist, though somewhat annoying at times. The healer's presence eased his troubled mind. If they had met under different circumstances, Harry would have considered him a friend. Harry returned his attention to the man sitting next to him.

"Tell me about Quirrel, Harry," Cygnus was saying.

"He smelled like garlic. Now that I think about it though, I think it might have been because Voldemort- you don't flinch? Amazing, most wizards do- was attached to the back of his head," Harry paused, "or he was trying to get the unicorn smell off his breath."

"Really." Cygnus' monotone responses created the urge within Harry to get a reaction, even if it was a little one.

"But that was really nothing compared to the basilisk," Harry continued his story, trying to casually ignore Cygnus.

The sound of quill on parchment stopped. "A basilisk?" Cygnus was looking intently at him now. He reminded Harry of Sirius.

"Yes," Harry snapped, annoyed, yet glad he finally received some sort of reaction. He needed more. Cygnus wrote something in his file. "Bloody stupid thing, too. Always wheezing about killing and ripping and tearing."

"You…could hear it talking?" This time Cygnus set down his quill, and the awe – or was it fear? – was evident in his voice. Harry was intoxicated with the feeling it stirred up within him, being able to create these emotions within another being. He frowned at himself; perhaps there really was something wrong with his mind….

"Well, yes. It is a snake." Cygnus' face was blank, so Harry continued, "And I can talk to snakes so…"

The monotone voice was back, making Harry's ire rise rapidly. "You can talk to snakes." Harry swallowed the urge to spit in Cygnus' face. It wasn't even a question, it was a statement, one that he had said mere seconds before.

"Why do you insist on repeating everything I say?" He asked harshly. Cygnus wrote something down.

He found himself growing more attached to Cygnus and their sessions together. They would sit and talk about random items or events for hours at a time, Cygnus always writing something or other down. When the man was gone Harry was left with nothing to do but stare at the relentlessly white walls. He loathed admitting it to himself, but Harry looked forward to the time they spent together, talking about Harry's life. It helped. It helped Harry cope with deaths and the burden placed upon him. But today was the last day of chatting. Harry had saved his favorite story for last – third year.

"So, let me get this straight," Cygnus put down his file – now several notebooks thick - and rubbed his eyes, "An escaped criminal and illegal animangus was trying to kill another illegal animangus when their friend transformed into a werewolf, at which point you were saved by yourself and your friend who had traveled back in time?"

Harry nodded slowly. The disbelief in Cygnus's voice propelled him forward. "That sounds about right. But I wasn't done yet. I didn't even get to the part where the criminal – who was innocent - escapes on Buckbeak-"

"The hippogriff?"

"Yes," Harry clapped, "The very one that attacked Malfoy!"

Harry swore he saw a tiny smirk on Cygnus' face. "How did that make you feel, Harry?"

"When it attacked Malfoy? Pleasantly tingly." Now Harry was positive he saw a smirk. "Anyway, it was I who saved me from the Dementors, not my dad, as I had originally thought."

"These Dementors, Harry, how did they make you feel?" Cynus asked, his quill paused over his parchment, suspended in its usual limbo.

Harry stared at the man in disbelief. "I – are you honestly asking me that? How Dementors make me feel?" Cygnus nodded. "Well…pretty shitty. They do go around sucking out souls and happiness, after all."

Cygnus' face snapped into professor mode, something Harry had become accustomed to. "Dementors do more than just that-"

"I'm sure," Harry said, deciding to preemptively end the lecture, "I can see it now "Dementors on Ice", fabulous show that is. I just imagine them running around screeching about souls; they don't seem very smart. But oh no! The play is amazing really, opened my eyes to their complex existence - much more to their lives than screeching about souls." Cygnus scribbled furiously in his notebook.

* * *

Cygnus Black crept silently through the darkened halls of . It was after hours now, with only the few night shift healers working. He ducked into the shadows as Healer Ramses walked by, remaining there until the man walked into the elevator. The plan was simple, sneak into the File Room, steal several folders, destroy some shelves – make it look like an attack – and escape; nothing he couldn't do. He stood in front of the shelves of medical files tapping his foot impatiently.

"M…N….O…P. Here we go. Pettrelli, Porter…Potter, H." Cygnus grabbed the file and shoved it in his cloak.

He slowly began to retreat from the room, treading lightly. As soon as he reached the door, he grabbed a firework from his pocket – one of the new Wild-Fire Whiz Bangs – and threw the fizzing stick it into the room. It rolled to a stop next to the O cabinet. Crouching outside the room, Cygnus knew he had only one chance to get this right, timing being everything. As soon as the wick was at the end, about to ignite the firework, he stunned it, causing a huge explosion.

In the chaos, paper shredded and flying everywhere, several shelves on their sides, fire licking at the walls, the rain-cloud fire extinguishers pouring monsoon worthy amounts of water, Cygnus was able to escape unnoticed to the floo, and away to Headquarters.

* * *

Cygnus strode into Voldemort's office, the file in his hand. "For you, my lord," he murmured, placing the folder on the desk before him.

"This is everything?" Voldemort asked, flipping through the pages flippantly.

"Yes my lord."

Lord Voldemort smirked. "Very well. Come with me, Cygnus, I would like a firsthand account before I read these. So dull. Shall we take a walk through the dungeons?" Cygnus nodded and followed Voldemort out of the room.

He watched them exit the office minutes ago. Now was his chance. He had to do it quickly. He bit his lip…if he were to be caught….

His hand waivered over the brass knob. He stared at it before lifting his gaze to the wood grain of the door. He took several deep breaths to steady his nerves.

"Quickly, before someone notices you lurking," he reprimanded himself. He turned the knob and slipped into the office, closing the door silently behind him.

There they were, sitting in plain sight on the Dark Lord's desk. Regulus quickly looked around the room. He nearly sprinted across the room to the oak desk, grabbing up the folder and eagerly flipping through its pages.

"Delusions. Paranoia. Severe mood swings –ha. All the good stuff. Professor Quirell feeding off of a unicorn? Delusions indeed. This should be interesting, to say the least. Not that I expect anything less."

Regulus set the file down and began quickly copying the pages. He heard a noise in the hall and paused. Not hearing it again he resumed copying at a more rapid pace. He could hear two people conversing in the hall, right outside the door. He grabbed the copied pages , shoved them into his cloak, and took several large steps toward the fireplace as the door was flung open. Regulus spun on his heel, his heart in his throat, and leaned casually against the fireplace.

"Dear cousin! Nice to see you around these parts again!" He called out cheerfully.

Cygnus' head snapped toward the voice. "Merlin you scared me! What are you doing in here?"

Regulus pushed himself off the fireplace. "Waiting to speak to The Dark Lord. Do you have an audience with him today? I can leave…" Regulus grabbed the bowl of floo powder off the mantle.

"No, no! No need to. You can join if you want. Actually, you should! I know you are interested in Healing Arts, and rumor has it the Dark Lord thinks you have great potential."

"Does he now? Well, if you think I should stay, I will." Regulus strode to the desk, well aware of the crinkling of the paper hidden within his cloak. He hoped Cygnus could not hear it. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Coming up with a plan to deal with The Shadow-"

"Capture him, Cygnus, a plan to capture him." Regulus and Cygnus sunk to their knees as Voldemort seemingly glided into his office. "Ah, Regulus! You will be joining us then?"

"Yes my lord," Regulus said.

"Good, good. It is for the best I believe. You, of all people here, are most capable of capturing The Shadow. You did it the first time did you not? It is a shame he was able to get away…" The Dark Lord trailed of menacingly, looking at Regulus appraisingly. Regulus' heart jumped, what if The Dark Lord knew?

"Indeed my Lord," Cygnus said, interrupting Regulus' thoughts.

Voldemort slid his cloak off his arms and draped it casually over the back of his stiff Victorian chair. "It will be most beneficial for us to persuade the boy to join our side. He knows far too much."

"Does he, my lord?" Regulus, against his better judgment, asked. He cringed inwardly and waited for a _Crucio_. Instead Voldemort let out a sinister chuckle, sat in his chair and grabbed the file.

"He does. He makes references to things….things only I, who has gone further than every wizard, know. He will make a useful ally, or else a dangerous enemy. Cygnus, what do you think the sentence will be? I know you think him, what was it? Oh yes 'raving mad. Worse than a hatter.'"

Regulus' mind reeled at this information. He would study the file once he got home, attend the trial. He had to find out what it was the boy knew that scared the Dark Lord.

"I believe he will be placed in a long-term ward in , my Lord."

"That will be a sufficient place to keep him until he is needed. Make sure he gets there. You are dismissed."

"Yes my Lord," Cygnus and Regulus replied before standing and exiting the dark room.

* * *

**And so the plot thickens. Please review!**


	13. Laments and Laughter Part 2

**I do not own HP**

* * *

_Laments and Laughter Part 2_

**

* * *

**

Lavender flipped her long braid over her shoulder and moved her gaze from the window to the newspaper again. "So, do you think this has anything to do with the Weasleys going missing?"

"Why would this," Seamus gestured to the fuzzy moving picture of a cloaked black figure, "have anything to do with the Weasleys? Dean said it was for their protection, until the trial at least." He shoveled a spoonful of Chocolate Vampire Fang cereal into his mouth, slurping the excess milk.

"For their protection," Lavender lowered her eyes, "Do they really think that he would…he wants to hurt them?"

Seamus sighed heavily. "I don't know Lav, maybe."

"Well if he wants to, like, hurt Won-Won…what about me? Won't he come after me too? Imagine how hurt Won-Won would be if The Shadow injured me!" She looked away and chewed on her lower lip.

"I doubt it." Another scoop of Chocolate Fangs. "If anything I think he would try to get Neville. I mean, he is the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Well, they always seem to be involved with stuff like this, you know, getting caught up with Neville and all…" she trailed off, unsure of what to say next. She decided to simple refocus her energy on viewing the blurred picture.

Seamus turned to face her, intrigued. "So, what you're saying this has something to do with," he lowered his voice and glanced cautiously around, "You-Know-Who and Neville?"

"Well, yeah. Think about it. You-Know-Who has been lying low lately, then all of a sudden, The Shadow is on the scene, killing innocent people – he's one of You-Know-Who's men. He has to be. They must have sent him to get information on someone. Or, or take someone. " For once, Seamus thought, Lavender Brown was actually making sense.

"Yeah, yeah…" He grabbed the paper from Lavender's hands and read the article once again. It was possible, but the implications – well, he didn't want to think about the implications of such a plot. "So, what do you think all of this means?"

"What does what mean?"

"Neville. Where have you been?"

"He's been studying with me. In the library." Hermione dropped her bag on the floor and slumped onto the bench.

"It doesn't matter where I've been," Neville said as he shoved a muffin into his mouth; Hermione and Lavender wrinkled their noses in disgust as he continued to talk while chewing his food, "and we weren't studying. What matters is that I know you two are talking about something important that I have yet to be informed of. We're best mates, you should let me know."

"If you weren't studying, what exactly were you doing?"

Neville's face reddened. "NOTHING! I mean nothing." He fidgeted with his sleeves.

Seamus rolled his eyes but obliged his manner-less friend. "Here, read this article, front and center, in the Daily Prophet." Seamus slid the paper across the table and into Neville's open, waiting hand.

_BREAK IN AT ST. MUNGOS! FILES STOLEN_

_At approx 0200 hours on January 20 an unknown wizard broke into St. Mungos Hospital File Room, destroying several thousand galleons worth of equipment. It is known that the assailant used Wildfire Whiz Bangs to create an impressive explosion in the room, destroying thousands of files. It is believed that the wizard – whose image, face obscured, was caught on Looking Eye Recorders moments before the explosion (shown below) – was stealing files from the Hospital. Because of the explosion, the files stolen remain unknown. The attack comes during a perilous time in the wizarding world, with the infamous Shadow currently undergoing evaluation at St. Mungos._

__

St. Mungo's President offered this statement: "This could have been, very easily, an attempt to retrieve The Shadow. Luckily, it was not. However, this attack revealed a weakness in our defenses, and we are currently increasing security, transferring The Shadow to an undisclosed location. The Aurors are currently investigating the identity of the wizard who committed this most heinous act and finding the missing documents. Nothing Further."

_Was it luck or just a distraction for something bigger yet to come? (Continued page A6)_

_WEIRD SISTERS CAUGHT WITH PUMPKINSEEDS!_

_Weird Sisters' drummer Orsino_ Thruston _caught smuggling pumpkinseeds across the French/German border. This comes shortly after the band allegedly destroyed a hotel room – throwing mattresses out of windows, smashing vases – with "dancer" Monica Steward. Are the young rock stars spiraling out of control?_

_BLIND ITEMS  
Which young witch was caught with her skirt up in a pricey restaurant this weekend? Sources say the popular starlet was having a discreet romp with a well-known, well-mustachioed, flyboy during a dinner party…_

"Well, things just got more interesting," Neville said, his brow furrowed in thought.

Lavender watched Neville intently. "I agree. I think the fly boy is Benjy Williams, I haven't thought of the witch yet – who do you think it is?"

* * *

_ATTACK AT QUIDDITCH GAME_

_ January 27__th__ several wizards dressed in Death Eater style masks and heavy black cloaks interrupted the much-anticipated Quidditch match between vicious rivals Bulgaria and Manchester. However, the individuals, who have yet to be identified, are not thought to be Death Eaters since the infamous symbol – a skull and snake – was not left marring the sky. Their reasons for the attack are unknown. Witness Jiminy Gross, like many others in attendance, believes the masked menaces were "followers of The Shadow". _

_Twenty-five young wizards and witches, from various wizarding schools and backgrounds, were injured. Four are in critical condition, with severe burns and exposure to Unforgivables. All are currently being treated in a private ward at St. Mungos, where the infamous Shadow had been treated for his own severe injuries caused by Aurors who were protecting citizens of the wizarding and Muggles world, during his reckless and dangerous attack on an innocent family. _

_A representative from the Quidditch Association of the British Isles could not be reached for comment._

_TRIAL FOR MENACE_

_ In recent times there have been several well-known wizards and witches who have changed society and life as we know it – Ignatius the Monk, Ella Emory, and Hoxton Buxton, all remembered for their contributions and developments in technology, spells, and writing; then there are those whose influence is far more negative – Grinderwald, You-Know-Who, and now a new comer: The Shadow. The Shadow is an enigma, rumors of him abound, and there are plenty of questions we wished to be answered. _

_Is he his own force, or is he in a sinister alignment with the most feared wizard in current times? Where did he come from? What is he fighting against – some say it is against the tyrannical government, others think the charismatic figure is working towards the goal of a "pure" wizarding society. But the most frequently asked question is "Who is he?" The young man has no paper trail at all (aside from his classified medical documents, which were conveniently lost during the attack on St. Mungos. One can only hope they have a copy somewhere). There is no record of him buying a wand, attending school, and he has not even a bank account! Witnesses describe the young man as "devastatingly attractive, well-spoken, and charismatic, with a rugged, haunted aura", while others describe him as "radiating pure evil," Hence his name, like a shadow the man seems to be nothing more than an illusion._

_As the date of the trial draw near, speculation continues to rise. Many citizens have their own opinions on what will be said and seen, and what the outcome will be. Hampton Bronx, a local of Lancaster, contains the most commonly held beliefs, saying "The Shadow…there's no doubt in my mind he's one of those Death Eaters, and a skilled one at that. He was trained to fight, like a samurai, I bet under You-Know-Who himself!" Indeed, the most commonly heard theory is the The Shadow is the "Heir to You-Know-Who" and currently acting as his right-hand man and field agent. _

_ We will find our answers to these questions on January 28, the date set for The Shadow's hearing with the Wizengamot at the Ministry of Magic. _

_While the trial is not open to the public, our very own journalists – Rita Skeeter, Devon Hampshire, and Holly Linda – will be in attendance. The very things you wish to know about the terrifying wizard will appear in a special edition Daily Prophet, the only newspaper allowed to print the exclusive story._

He threw the newspaper down in disgust. They were interrupting him – the people watching him. He could not stand it anymore. They watched him, their judging eyes sharp and unforgiving, and they whispered nasty secrets and lies about him. Everywhere Neville went he heard whispers. In the hallways, in the classrooms, on the school grounds, in the common room, on the Quidditch pitch. Everywhere he went he could not escape them. Whispers of him, of the recent attacks, of The Shadow.

His friends were now either tiptoeing around him and avoiding him or trying to discretely pry and gather his thoughts.

Everyone was conspiring. Through the walls, he heard every theory; he saw every weary glance. Yet none of them knew what was really happening, though neither did anyone in The Order, none of them saw the big picture. No one saw how all the puzzle pieces were fitting together.

The sudden appearance of The Shadow, Voldemort's increasingly desperate attempts at regaining control through fear, the splitting of The Order, the stolen files – what did they all have in common? There was a huge piece missing, and Neville wanted to know what it was.

He was sick of sitting around, sick of being a puppet. He had already begun to rebel against the minister, no longer letting the older man manipulate him into giving his approval or attending government sanctioned outings. Oh, he would give the people something to whisper about.

* * *

Bright light. He shut his eyes tightly against it; it hurt. Too bright. He blinked, and attempted to open his eyes again. Better. Black blobs obscured the light, and then they were gone. He shut his eyes again. He blinked and shook his head. The light had been removed. His ears were ringing. He looked around, but could not get up. The figures were people leaning over him. He saw their lips moving but could not hear what they said, too much ringing. The pressure on his wrist was released. Everything snapped back to normal.

"Hand me that bucket. How do you feel? You may-" Harry leaned over and heaved into the bucket. "-Throw up. It's a common side effect."

"A common side effect of what?" Harry choked out, his torso pressed into the rail of the bed and head hanging limply. He gasped for breath. His brain was foggy still. The nurse looked at him unconcerned and did not bother to answer his question. Bitch.

"Sit up," she stated as she grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him into a sitting position. At that moment, a familiar man walked into his room.

"Healer Black!" Harry yelped in surprise, "What are you doing here?" He straightened himself and ran a hand nervously through his hair.

The Healer smiled warmly. "Good morning Harry. I came here to speak with you," he turned to the nurse and gestured at her with his clipboard, "You may leave now." He watched the nurse walk away, a sneer on her face. He opened his mouth, and Harry thought for a moment the Healer was going to call the nurse a bitch, but instead the man asked, "How are you feeling Harry?"

"A bit queasy sir," His mouth was dry too, like cotton. "What-"

"That's to be expected. We had to place you into a…a medically induced coma until your trial, in order for you to heal properly. We had to use Muggle medicine, which you are familiar with, and it has some…undesirable side-effects." Cygnus wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Harry stared at the palms of his hands that lay idly in his lap. "My trial, it's today?" he looked at Cygnus through his bangs, his glasses slipping down his face.

Cygnus stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked down, unwilling to meet Harry's gaze, "I'm afraid so Harry. I will – I'm required to provide a testimony to the court," he looked at Harry, "but I'm on your side Harry. Don't forget that you're not alone." He placed a hand gently onto Harry's shoulder and squeezed lightly before exiting the room.

More than ever Harry wanted to cry.

Harry sighed huffily again, louder than the last time.

"Is something bothering you, Mister Potter?" asked the attendant. The attendant's hair was parted on the side and had too much gel in it; his suit was maroon and made him look like a bellhop. Harry did not like it. He was accompanying them, Harry and his nasty nurse, through the "back-entry" of the Ministry so Harry could attend his trial. Surrounding them on all sides were big burly Aurors with no nonsense attitudes.

"May I walk now?" Harry asked, "I don't need a wheelchair." He crossed his arms moodily and glared at the floor moving beneath his feet. That medicine, whatever it was, sure made him a lot moodier than normal.

"Of course Mister Potter," the nurse said sweetly. Immediately Harry tensed; something was wrong. The nurse being nice? "We are here anyway," she continued as she stopped the wheelchair jerkily and raised the backend from the floor, sending Harry tumbling to the ground into a heap. He glared at the nurse from his position on the tile – she smiled saccharinely and waited patiently with her hands clasped behind her back – as the attendant hurried to help Harry from the floor.

"You need to enter the room Mister Potter," The attendant, identified as "Marshall" on his nametag, said as he straightened Harry's glasses for him. The man sent a nervous glance to a red-cloaked Auror who cleared his throat in a threatening manner.

Harry stared at the heavy wood door before him. In there was impending doom. He had never been so scared in his life.

With one last glance at the bitch nurse and the attendant, Marshall, Harry yanked the door open and walked into a darkened room. He had to squint to see at first, until his eyes adjusted.

In the middle were a table and three chairs. An Auror came from behind him and shoved Harry into a lone chair before sitting across from him. The man grinned, revealing yellowed and chipped teeth, and licked his chapped lips.

"Doughnut?" he asked, pushing a plate of glazed doughnuts toward Harry, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.

"No thank you," Harry muttered. The Auror opened his mouth to respond but was cut short by the entrance of a rotund, balding man in an obnoxious orange outfit.

"Ah, here we are!" He said as he settled into his seat next to the Auror. "I am Jon Brown and I will be taking down your information today." He gazed steadily at Harry through coke-bottle glasses.

Harry nodded, not sure of what to say and not willing to break eye contact.

The man, Jon Brown, pressed his lips together as he looked Harry over. "Do you understand what will be happening? You seem quiet young…" he pushed his glasses up his nose.

Harry cleared his throat, "Yes, I do understand." There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. "I- I'm going to be tried. Er, in court."

Jon Brown smiled. "Ah, yes, yes. You will be. There are some steps before that I'm afraid. In a case like this – yours- we must make sure we follow the book closely! What we will be doing now is called a booking. I will be taking down your information." Harry nodded again. Jon pulled out an odd contraption. "Firstly, a picture for your file!"

* * *

Utter chaos, Dumbledore thought as he walked through the parting sea of reporters. Flashbulbs going off in every direction, paper planes of all colors zooming haphazardly through the air, reporters – crammed into the hallway, held back by Ministry security – screeching out names only to be overridden by a gruff Auror yelling "No questions!" as he blazed a path for the Wizengamot. The Auror pushed aside any press that was in the way, setting an example for the rest (who all put in their best efforts to create a path, even if it was only barely big enough for single-file).

Behind him the witnesses were trailing, subjected to the same cruelty, the mass of individuals crashing back together behind them. Being pushed and pulled in opposite directions at the same time, experiencing the suffocating heat caused by too many bodies in too small of an area, the ringing in the ears from so much yelling. It was a near riot in and outside of the Ministry today.

Dumbledore knew of a group of activist witches holding a gathering at Hogsmeade, intent on getting The Shadow burnt at the stake; out front the Magical community was overtaking the Muggle one like when Neville defeated Voldemort. However, this time, there were no celebrations, only anger and hatred which threatened to spill blood. Dumbledore wondered if The Shadow knew the chaos he was causing in the wizarding world. Dumbledore was almost sure it was part of the boy's plan.

* * *

Harry was led into the courtroom for what Mr. Brown called his arraignment. He swore he had seen it before, but he could not recall…the life he knew seemed so far away now. Harry glanced around the circular room, pausing at the threshold. There was an eerie silence in the room – it was like that weird silence when you walk up to a group of people while they are talking about you and suddenly end all conversation, but much, much more intense.

Behind him, the Aurors pushed his back, urging him to move forward. He did not. A murmur rose from the crowd. He could feel the unnatural chill in the dungeon; Dementors must be close. In the high wooden benches sat several familiar faces, reporters, teachers, those he once considered friends and family. On his right sat Rita Skeeter, her quick quill already zipping along her parchment. Each face he looked at returned only a sneer or curious gaze. The Auror shoved his wand into Harry's neck, hissing in his ear to get moving.

Harry grudgingly moved forward.

He felt like he was wearing cement shoes, and his stomach churned dangerously. With a rough shove the bigger Auror sat Harry in a straight-backed chair. His hand rested on Harry's shoulder as clasps sprung up from the armrests and legs and closed around his limbs. He was truly trapped now. Above him, his peers, in front of him his executioners, behind him, well, he didn't want to look behind him.

The judge cleared his throat. "If we are ready? Present in the court today is Chief Justice of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones. Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge. Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Chief Auror Morgan Mustang. Chief Examiner Prime Minister Cornelius Fudge. Examiner for the Defense, Evan A. Rosier. Witnesses for the Plaintiff, Willard Savage, Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Orion Black, Charles Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Nathaniel Potter; Witnesses for the Defense-"

"-Witness for the Defense, Neville Longbottom. Expert Witness for the Defense, Healer Cygnus S. Black," Rosier filled in.

The judge paused, his mouth slightly agape, as if unable to believe Harry had any sort of defense. "Witness for the Defense," he continued on, trying to look unfazed, "Neville Longbottom; Expert Witness for the Defense, Healer Cygnus S. Black; The accused… Harry James Potter." A murmur ran through the crowd. The judge turned to his fellow Wizengamot members, "At this moment in time, please prepare your questions for the witnesses. Mr. Rosier, please take a seat on the floor. "

Harry watched, disgusted, as Rosier walked toward the chair next to him, several files in his hand. He sat elegantly in his seat and began to arrange his papers. Harry noticed how smoothly the man moved –most likely indoctrinated into him at a young age, purebloods were all about grace and ease of movement.

"So, Harry, I think it best you plead not guilty on the basis of insanity," Rosier stated casually. As if he did this sort of thing every day.

Harry snorted. "Not likely."

Rosier looked up sharply. "Do as I say Harry…"

"You? Do what you say? You're going to help me?" Harry arched his eyebrow.

Rosier looked offended at Harry's statement. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You want me dead!" Harry said harshly. Rosier winced and glanced quickly around.

"True, too true, but I'm only doing my job. As your lawyer I can't kill you, it would simply be inappropriate." Rosier returned to his papers, making little notes on several pieces of parchment.

"Well, why can't someone else….You're a Death Eater!" Harry screeched. Several members of the audience looked over. Curiosity and fear lined their faces.

"Quiet boy! Look," Rosier sighed heavily, "we both know you're not a Death Eater, but that doesn't mean you can go shouting who is and isn't. You already look like a lunatic, so I doubt they'd believe you anyway. That's why you are going to plead insanity. Our Lord, he has a special interest in you Harry. You're too valuable to be thrown into Azkaban. Consider yourself lucky, we're here to protect you, not harm you."

Harry looked around him. There was Lucius Malfoy, a few seats down from him Bellatrix and Regulus. Mcnair, his filthy twisted face, standing out in the sea of faces, and Nott blending in easily. They were everywhere. Rosier was right. He was his only chance.

"Order!" Shouted the Judge. "We will now being the proceedings. It is January 28th, 11:03 am. Please state your name for the Public Record."

Rosier nudged Harry. "Oh…Harry James Potter."

Another murmur ran through the crowd. In the stands, Lily Potter paled and James exchanged a glance with Sirius. One witch gasped loudly. Harry was tempted to roll his eyes.

"Oh shut it," Harry snapped at the same time Director Bones pounded the gavel. Rosier silenced Harry with a glare.

"Harry James Potter, you are being tried for two counts of murder, nine counts of attempted murder, grand theft aero, and being a Death Eater. How do you plead?"

Harry didn't know. Did he do what Rosier said? He was not a Death Eater, he never killed anyone, and he did not even know what grand theft aero was. He turned to Rosier, who leaned over. "What's grand theft aero?"

"Stealing a broom, magic carpet, or other flying travelling device that is worth a significant monetary value. Remember Harry, not guilty, insanity. "

Harry returned his attention back to the Judge. "Not guilty. Except grand theft aero, I did do that. "

Beside him Harry heard Rosier groan. "Harry, we won't get a plea bargain for that…"

"Not guilty?" asked the Judge, his eyebrows slowly disappearing into his hairline. Beside him Professor Dumbledore looked pensive, his hands folded in his lap.

"Right. Except for Grand Theft Aero." Harry shook his head, mostly to convince himself.

"On what basis do you plead?"

Harry paused. Dare he say it? "On the grounds that I didn't-"

"On the grounds of insanity, your Honor," Rosier interrupted. Another murmur from the crowd. Harry shot a quick look at Rosier before looking at the crowd disapprovingly. He saw several members shift uncomfortably as his eyes scanned over them. Harry rested his gaze on Gideon Prewett, who returned his stare before nodding ever so slightly.

"Very well. Let us proceed to the interrogation of Mr. Potter. Wizengamot, " The Judge nodded. Harry returned his attention to the wizards before him. Harry noticed Dumbledore's blue eyes look from Gideon to himself, suspicious. The interaction, however slight, did not go unnoticed.

Albus Dumbledore was the first to stand, never breaking eye contact with Harry. "Harry, if I may call you that, is your family present today?"

Harry glared at Dumbledore. Why would he ask such a question? He opened his mouth but no words came out. All this time he had wished to talk to Dumbledore, only to be snubbed. Dumbledore didn't even recognize him!

"My client is an orphan, sir." Rosier stated quietly, placing his hand on Harry's back. Harry wanted to shake it off, but thought against it. It was best to go along with Rosier's plan, whatever it was. "So, the answer to your question is no, they are not."

Dumbledore nodded and sat back down, never removing his eyes from Harry.

"Mr. Potter, did you attend school?" asked a chubby woman with a brown bob.

Harry glanced at Rosier. "Yes."

People in the stands tittered, anxious and on the edge of their seats. "Where?"

"Hogwarts. I was – am – in Gryffindor." Silence.

Two, three, four beats later, another wizard stands and asks, "Even though there are no records of you ever attending the school?"

The silence is thick and strained. Suddenly the room is too warm, despite the presence of Dementors.

Harry leaned forward, confusion knit his brows together. "I- what? Yes."

"My client, Judge Appow," Rosier's voice rang out, "has memories of life at Hogwarts, in Gryffindor house, up until the end of his Fifth year. If you direct your attention to Article 4 B in the evidence catalog, you can read Healer Black's detailed descriptions of Mr. Potter's school life. Next question."

"So, you are how old, Mister Potter?"

"Sixteen." The only noise now was the scratching of a Quik Quill on parchment.

A blonde wizard stood. "Where were you the night of the Hogsmeade Attack, Mr. Potter?"

"I was in Hogsmeade." The people in the stands shifted nervously. Harry's stomach rolled. This was not looking good. Next to him Rosier inhaled deeply.

Harry looked out at the crowd again. They watched, staring unnervingly, their faces completely blank. Harry spotted Neville in the stands, next to a man in a Muggle suit. Harry quickly averted his eyes.

"What were you doing there?"

Again, Harry looked to Rosier, who was sitting calm and collected. In the stands, the other Death Eaters looked bored. "I was having tea," he shrugged his shoulders.

"Having tea?" Muffled laughter rose around the room. The blonde wizard smiled condescendingly. "And what do you say to the claims that you apparated away with the Death Eaters?"

Silence reigned once again.

"I didn't-"

"If you aren't a Death Eater, as you claim, why not just stay until help arrived?"

"The Aurors are never any help. They are incompetent to-"

"My client maintains that he is free of association with Death Eaters, your honor," Rosier jumped in, "Is a badly timed apparation from a chaotic and dangerous scene really enough evidence to accuse Mr. Potter, Harry, of being part of a – a terrorist organization? I hardly think so. Mr. Potter acted out of self preservation, since, as he said, the Auror department has been known to have…trouble."

"Hem, hem, Mr. Potter," Dolores Umbridge stood and smiled sweetly, "are you a Muggleborn?" For the first time the courtroom was completely silent. No one was moving, the Quik Quill stopped writing, and Harry stopped breathing. Rosier's shout of "Your Honor! The relevance of this question?" seemed muffled and oppressed by the heavy silence. Harry felt dizzy. He should have known this was coming.

"Answer the question, Mr. Potter," the Judge said as he motioned for Rosier to take a seat. The voice of the judge rang with authority, bouncing off the stonewalls and echoing throughout the room. The crowd of spectators, and the Wizengamot, however, stayed silent.

Harry cleared his throat. "No, I was raised by Muggles though." He had a bad feeling about this. The pit in his stomach grew and rolled viciously.

Dolores' smile grew. "And how did they treat you?"

"I…" Harry trailed off. He looked to Rosier, though he hated the man with a passion, for guidance. A Death Eater, the person he was taught all his life to hate and despise, by Dumbledore, the man whom he fought not too long ago, was helping him. Harry actually laughed. The irony of it. Death Eaters willingly helping the Boy-Who-Lived? It began as a chuckle, but steadily grew louder. Beside him Rosier looked alarmed, in front of him the Wizengamot shifted in their seats.

His laugh, it sounded hallow and pained. Sad.

"Harry," Rosier hissed into his ear, "stop this. Answer the question…Harry…"

"Well?" prompted the Judge, a slight waver in his tone. Rosier looked helplessly at the judge. There was nothing he could do. If anything, this little breakdown of Harry's supported the suggestion of agreeing to send the boy to , not Azkaban.

"My Aunt and Uncle," Harry managed between laughs, "oh, they kept me in the cupboard under the stairs!" Harry laughed harder now. It was funny, looking back on it. "And they never gave me food and made me do endless chores. All because of my lovely parents." Harry was surprised by the bitterness in his voice. Never before had he thought of his parents as the cause of his less than spectacular home life. But it was true nonetheless. He stopped laughing. It wasn't funny anymore.

"And would you say, Mr. Potter, that their treatment of you has affected your views of Muggles and Muggleborn?"

Harry stared at the ground and shook his head. "No. Not at all. My best friend is a Mug-"

"Hem, hem!" Harry closed his mouth and glanced at Rosier, who was glaring at Umbridge. "Who is to say that Mr. Potter's treatment has not led him to experience hatred for Muggles and Muggleborns? To attempt to achieve vengeance for his treatment? What better alternative than to join a group like the Death Eaters?"

"My best friend is a Muggleborn!" Harry stated, glaring at Umbridge.

"What we see in this young man is not 'insanity' as we think of it – it is an insanity rotten to the core. A sociopath is sitting in the middle of this room, and I fear that if we do not place him behind bars, he will continue to hunt down Muggleborns and any pureblood family aligned with them – such as the Weasleys."

Oh sweet, sweet irony.

"My best friend is a Muggleborn. And so was my mother. I love the…I love the Weasleys. They gave me a home." Harry cried out weakly, drowned by Rosier's more booming voice defending him. Harry didn't even know what the man said, and at this point he didn't care.

Umbridge's voice rose above the noisy chaos of the room, "Can we really allow such a charismatic, delusional young man to trick us with his lies and manipulations? You see clearly what he is doing, his strategy."

"I'M NOT LYING!" He strained against his restraints before collapsing back into the chair, tears streaming down his face. Umbridge quickly shut her mouth and stared wide-eyed at Harry. "I am not lying."

In the distance, Harry heard Rosier say, "Your Honor, I think it best we take a break and allow my client to regroup."

"I daresay we do. Wizengamot to re-adjourn in twenty minutes!" The Judge said as he banged his gable.

Harry attempted to wipe his tears off his face, but was held back due to the restraints on his hand. Cygnus, who had come down from the rafters with Neville, roughly wiped his face with a handkerchief.

"Relax, Harry," he said, scrubbing his face still, "The Aurors are coming to remove the restraints."

At that moment a burly Auror, whom Harry had never seen before, descended into the chamber, his keys jingling at his side. Harry gulped, audibly he thought, as the man treaded closer and paused an uncomfortable distance in front of him and leaned in. He smelled rather like a bar, and looked as if he had been out late the night before. He shoved the key into a hole on the chair and stared at Harry.

"No funny business," he said gruffly and twisted the key, allowing Harry's hands to go free.

They were not free for long however. The Auror roughly twisted them behind his back and tied them together. Harry felt as if he was in an episode of Dudley's favorite show – COPS – as he was roughly pushed up the stairs and led to a dark side room, Neville, Cygnus and Rosier following dutifully behind him. The door slammed shut behind them, sending the room into total darkness. Someone lit a lantern.

Harry took a moment to steady himself, taking in the stonewalls and white table, before turning to Rosier and Cygnus. "All right. What are you getting at? You bloody well know I'm not crazy!"

"Harry - "

"And you," Harry glared at Rosier, who was leaning against the table focusing on his shiny dress shoes, "what are you doing here?"

Rosier slowly looked up. "As I told you earlier, helping you, not that I want to," he shrugged and looked away.

"Listen Harry, Rosier was assigned to you for a reason. With his skills, the witness testimonies – especially Neville's - and my medical opinion, we are saving you from the Kiss of Death!"

"I- what," Harry slide his back down the wall, taking in the information, to sit on the floor, "They want…they want to suck out my soul?"

Rosier nodded grimly. "You're my client Harry, and I am going to make sure that doesn't happen to you. Especially considering…your precarious mental state."

"My mental state is fine!"

"Harry…" Cygnus let out a breath, "You, you are considered not only a danger to those around you, but to yourself. You need more professional help than would be available to you at Azkaban."

Harry studied Cygnus closely. "So, what are you proposing?"

"We," Cygnus nodded towards Rosier, "put in a request to place you in -"

"WHAT?"

"-where they will be able to care for you."

"But I- but-"

"It's okay Harry," Neville said shyly. He stood partially behind Cygnus, using the Healer as a shield. "You'll get the top care. Better than Azkaban at any rate."

Harry sneered at Neville. "What, not going to attack me?"

"No," Neville said defensively, "I just…I realized some things, and noticed that you fight too well to be a Death Eater," Rosier expertly turned a laugh into a bad cough, Cygnus sent him an undecipherable look, "I want to help you. I do not think you are the bad guy. Just lost."

Rosier watched the scene unfold with suspicious eyes. He wondered if Neville knew he was working with the Death Eaters, the bad guys. He exchanged a glance with Cygnus. This had the potential to go extremely well, or very, very badly.

* * *

All eyes were on the boy and his, for lack of a better term, gang, as the judges walked stiffly into their chamber. He look a raving lunatic, sounded one too. His eyes were puffy and red, his nose running, and his voice hoarse from yelling. James shared a look with Sirius. This kid either was an amazing actor or brainwashed. His reactions here, his insistence in his truth, were the same as in the interrogation James had watched with Sirius. Same mannerisms; James would always remember the way the boy scanned the room with his eyes, taking everything in with his unnaturally wide-eyed stare.

Beside him, Lily shifted nervously. She had made a comment earlier about the unusual amount of "supposed" Death Eaters in the room. James knew it set her on edge. James peered at his son. He smothered a smile as he took in Nate's raised, defiant chin, despite his green appearance.

He looked back down at the floor, where the Auror was currently uncuffing the defendant. James thought he heard a simultaneous intake of breath when those metal bands he had been fighting so hard earlier fell from the boy's wrists. All eyes were on him. There was a pregnant pause as he seemed unsure now if he wanted to stand up. It was all slow motion to James. The kid's gawky movements as he stood, the way his limbs were hilariously tangled, all knobby and too thin, when the Auror twisted them behind his back. Then, suddenly, time is fast-forwarded and the Shadow is guided out of the room by his entourage, Rosier and Cygnus on either side and Neville trailing behind.

The Shadow was gone, out of the room, yet no one spoke. Neville stood with his hand on the doorway. With a long-suffering look over his shoulder, at the audience – them – Neville continued on his way.

Pandemonium would be the right word to describe to courtroom after Neville left. The oppressive silence turned to oppressively loud noise instantly, like someone had lit a match under all of their asses at once.

Something was off.

Remus adjusted his worn tie and turned cheerily to Sirius. "Well, I certainly think pleading insanity was the right choice for that one," he said loudly, attempting to speak above the din. He smiled cheekily, his tired eyes crinkling.

Sirius leaned in close. "So, you think he is insane then. You're buying it?" Disbelief colored Sirius' voice and his eyebrows were inching precariously close to disappearing into this thick hair.

"Of course I am! Well, not insane-insane, but he is clearly severely traumatized. He has been brainwashed or something. He thinks he's a Potter!"

Sirius conceded, "That is weird, but he's been saying he was a Potter since day one…insisted it at the interrogation, and most likely to my…dearest Kin."

"Brainwashing," Remus stated, earning a glare from his close friend.

"Something isn't right here. That much is for sure. We need to get to the bottom of it before Dumbledore or Vold- You-Know-Who," Sirius looked at James, who had yet to add anything to the conversation. "Are you sure you're okay with Nate acting as a witness? He looks white as a sheet."

James snapped his attention to Sirius, "He's fine, and he wants to do it. That…I think everyone got a good stomach churn towards the end. There's something weird going on here." He pursed his lips, unsure what to say next. Somewhere to his left Rita Skeeter is loudly interviewing people in the stands. There is a series of bright lights – from a flashbulb no doubt.

"I agree. Secrets," Sirius nodded, closely watching James. Sirius fiddled with his cufflinks and watched distractedly as Lily and Molly Weasely fussed over the children's hair.

Remus shook his head and tsked. "Brainwashing," he repeated in the background, like an echo, as he turned his attention to his wife.

Sirius and James lapsed into silence, the chaos around them doing nothing to break their concentration.

"No, more than brainwashing and secrets," James mumbled to himself. He frowned, "Did you manage to get a paper trail on him Sirius?"

"Using the name he insists upon, I did. He has files in St. Mungos. Or had," Sirius continued grimly, "They were among the files that were destroyed."

"Or taken," Remus' added, suddenly a part of the conversation again. Tonks looked inquisitively over his shoulder.

James and Sirius glanced at each other. "Yes, or taken," Sirius conceded. He was about to continue when the thick Redwood door to the Wizengamot chambers creaked open. The noise drew the attention of everyone in the room in a single instant, quieting down the crowd and subduing the antics of Rita Skeeter.

They watched wordlessly as the elders filed in, led by Minister Fudge, and back into their seats. The judge stood solemnly, "Please bring in the defendant; I'm sure he's had more than enough time to regain control of himself. We will now being the eye-witness testimony. Witnesses, please begin to prepare yourself. "

James let out a shaky breath. These witnesses, his son and his friends, determined everything. They were about to change the wizarding world, forever.

* * *

**as always, please review! I always reply :)**


	14. Laments and Laughter Part 3

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**

* * *

**

_Laments and Laughter Part 3_

**

* * *

**

"Time's up."

Neville gulped audibly as Harry was placed back into his restraints and led out of the room, Cygnus following him. His stomach was a ball of nerves. Was he really going to do this? Support a murderer on the witness stand, all for the sake of defying the minister? He was having second thoughts about it all. His tongue was dry and sticking to the roof of his mouth, and he could not lift his feet to walk out of the room. A hand touched his shoulder.

"You good, Neville?"

Neville looked up at Rosier, "Y-yeah. Just a bit nervous I guess."

Rosier smiled and nodded. "You'll do fine. You're doing the right thing," he gestured to the door, "They're waiting for us. Shall we?"

"Oh, yeah uh sorry!" Neville exited the tiny room and walked toward the heavy, open door to the courtroom. Inside he could hear the judge saying, "Now begin the eye-witness testimony. Witnesses, please begin to prepare yourself. " Neville slipped into the viewer stands and promptly began his deep breathing exercises.

Harry was pushed into the courtroom, nearly stumbling over his untied shoe and his glasses crooked on his face. Everyone was watching him. Nearly everyone. Mrs. Weasley was talking in hushed tones to her children – his so-called friends - fixing their hair and smoothing their worn clothes. The clasps of the chair locked into place around his wrists and ankles. Cygnus had returned to the viewer stands – no doubt to await his turn as a witness, and Rosier was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

"Are there anymore questions for Mr.…Potter?" asked the judge. No one moved or spoke. "Very well then, let us begin with the witnesses. Will the first witness against the accused please come forward?"

Harry watched as Ginny made her way toward the stand.

"She's pretty. You Potters have a thing for redheads." Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He glared at Rosier, who only raised a single finger to his lips and pointed toward the stand – Ginny was about to speak.

"My name is Ginevra Weasley. I am a fourth year Gryffindor at Hogwarts." She nervously smoothed back her hair and gave Harry a half-hearted smile.

Dumbledore looked kindly at Ginny and spoke to the Court Writer, "Given Ginny's age and recent trauma, I will be asking all questions which have been previously decided upon," He returned his attention to Ginny and softly asked, "When and where did you first come into contact with the accused?"

She cleared her throat. "December 31; we were playing Quidditch in the field near my house, in Ottery St. Catchpole."

"How was he acting when you met him?" Dumbledore placed his hands into their familiar steepled stance.

"He was relieved when he first saw me. He acted like he knew me. He…he knew my name. He looked scared and tired, dirty. He was very nice." The Wizengamot fidgeted slightly at this statement. In the audience, Harry could see Mrs. Weasley, slightly green and gaping.

"I see. Did he scare you?"

"Well, he did at first, because of what I'd read in the papers. I thought he was going to hurt me. But then he said he just wanted to talk to me, alone," she played with the hem of her sleeve, "That he missed me, and he didn't understand what was happening. I wanted to know more, I thought maybe I could help – get information. I went willingly, nothing would have happened –that huge fight – if my git brother had minded his own business and Nate had not come after me. Harry wasn't going to do anything. "

Harry smiled.

"What happened that started the fight?"

"Ron noticed him, and Nate came over and pulled me away from him. I- I fell into a thorn bush."

"Did The Shadow attack your brothers and Nate?"

"Yes. But I don't think he meant to hurt them…"she trailed off and looked toward her family.

"You spoke with Investigator Mustang?" Harry heard Rosier groan in disgust.

She frowned, "I did."

"What did he say?"

"That I needed to be institutionalized, like Harry." Several audience members tsked loudly, and frowns appeared on Wizengamot members.

"That will be all Ginny. You may step down." Ginny nodded and stepped off the platform, looking at Harry as her mother ushered her out of the room.

The Minister began to speak as soon as she exited the room. "It certainly seems that this "Harry" is manipulative and charming, luring innocent girls away with a Romeo and Juliet act. He acted as if he knew her and her family. An actor. That is what he is. Able to fool us all with his rouse."

"So it would seem, given just young Ginny Weasley's testimony," agreed Dumbledore quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right. Acting. I'm a bloody wonderful actor aren't I? I _like_ Ginny-"

"Harry, please be quiet and let the next witness speak." Rosier leaned toward Harry and whispered, "Try to keep your thoughts to yourself Squirt; you don't want to give them any more reasons to think you are dangerous."

He turned to face his lawyer, "Where were you?"

"Helping Neville get a hold of himself, now pay attention and don't speak anymore."

Harry grudgingly nodded and returned his attention back to the witness stand. The Judge had called up the second witness, the boy who had pulled Ginny away from him at the Weasley's house. Harry remembered him. He looked like James Potter – same face, same eyes, same hair. Harry's stomach rolled uneasily.

"State your name and age for the record please," the judge drawled.

"My name is Nathaniel James Potter; I'm a fourth year Gryffindor. I go by Nate." He pushed his bangs out of his eyes.

"Very well, Mister Potter. The Wizengamot has elected Albus Dumbledore to ask Wizengamot Approved questions, due to the witness's age. Albus, you may begin at any time."

Dumbledore stared intently at Nate, making the boy fidget, "Do you know the accused, Harry Potter?"

Nate looked at Harry. Yes, Harry thought he was a miniature replica of his father. He wondered how Voldemort had been able to pull off this elaborate hoax. No doubt Rosier was in on it. "I thought he looked familiar – like my dad. It was creepy. He doesn't look the same as the posters and in the newspapers."

"So you are not related?"

"Not that I know of, Professor." He shrugged, "I guess it's always possible."

"When was the first time you came into contact with Harry Potter?"

"When he was talking to Ginny, at The Burrow. I was there for Charlie's birthday. We were playing Quidditch when Ron noticed someone talking to Ginny near the woods. He, Harry, grabbed her by the arm and started walking away with her. I thought he was going to hurt her."

"What did you do?" Dumbledore scribbled something on a piece of parchment.

"So I told him to let her go, but he wouldn't. I walked over there and pulled her away from him and told him to leave before we called Aurors."

"You were going to let him leave without notifying the authorities?"

Nate bowed his head and shrugged. "I thought that it would be easier to just let him leave instead of – instead of causing a huge fight to break out and having to go to court and whatnot."

Dumbledore and several other wizards chuckled. "I can understand your reasoning, no one likes court hearings. How was Harry acting?"

"I don't know," Nate shrugged again. Harry thought that maybe it was a nervous habit, "Just weird."

"'Weird'? Weird enough for you to be concerned about you, and your friends, well being?"

"Yes. After I got Ginny away, he started walking toward me. It was creepy. Like he wanted to skin me alive. I thought he might too. He doesn't have a very good reputation, does he?" An uneasy laughter rose from the audience.

Dumbledore smiled at Nate, "How did you react?"

"I pulled my wand on him. I didn't even get to curse him, he moved to fast. He was aiming for me, but he hit Charlie in the head with a stick- branch. I don't know why—maybe he didn't have a wand. "

"What happened next?"

"Well, Charlie fell then the Shadow – Harry – hit me in the face with the branch. All I got was a gash. Then Charlie got up and told us to go to the house and get help."

"Did you?"

Nate nodded sharply. "We did."

"That would be all from this witness. Thank you Nathanial, you did very well. Please step down."

* * *

"My name is Charlie Weasley. I'm a dragon trainer in Romania. I was a Gryffindor at Hogwarts."

"That would explain the Dragon-hide jacket," one of the Wizengamot council members stated. Charlie Responded with only a crooked smile. "You work in Romania, why were you at The Burrow?"

"I was home to celebrate my birthday."

"When you interacted with The Shadow, as you believed him to be called at the time, did you think he was a danger to you?"

"Like Nate said – I don't think he had a wand. I don't think he wanted to fight either. I sort of…I pushed him into a fight. It was a mistake."

"But did you think he was dangerous? Posed a threat?"

Charlie paused and looked skyward. "Yes."

Another member took over the line of questioning. "What did he do when he attacked you?"

"Hit me with a tree branch on accident. He was trying to get Nate."

"Is that how he ended up with your wand?"

"No. He took my wand. I don't…he tackled me and I dropped it. I was going to get it and he hit me in the face with that branch again. I don't know what happened next. I was out of it. He hit me hard."

"So he stole your wand?"

"Yes."

"What was his demeanor like, during this time?" asked Dumbledore.

"He seemed agitated and confused. Like he didn't understand what was happening. I- he seemed to know me."

A brown-haired witch asked, "You said earlier that you did not think he wanted to fight. Is this true?"

"Yes. In my opinion, he did not want to fight, nor was he in the condition to fight."

"Very well. No further inquiries for this witness."

* * *

"My name is John Dawlish, I'm an Auror," he pointed to the badge on his scarlet robe, "Dueling Specialist. I was in Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. "

"What does your job, as a dueling specialist, entail?" asked Rosier. Harry stared at him – this was the first time Rosier had said anything since the parade of witnessed had begun.

"Well, I arrest wizards and witches on the wrong side of the law. Often times, when a magical person is putting up a fight or running, they call me in to help subdue them. I analyze dueling techniques, which are specific to each individual, and help our Auror teams fight a particularly nasty wizard."

Rosier was surprised the job existed, he wondered if Dawlish and other Dueling Specialists knew all of the Death Eaters styles – he would look into it later. Rosier continued his line of questioning, "As a specialist, what can you tell us about Harry Potter's fighting style?"

Dawlish nodded slowly. "Sure. He had to have been trained somewhere. A school, probably. He's an average wizard, but he's got luck and creativity on his side. Natural talent. A bit sloppy; doesn't think things through. Not the most brilliant tactician. I've seen him in action several times, he's tough to understand."

Rosier was about to continue, another question on the tip of his tongue, when Dumbledore interrupted, "How did you come to the conclusion that this young man was a Death Eater?"

"The first time I saw the accused was at Hogsmeade, the night of the attack. He wasn't wearing a mask, but those surrounding him were."

"Why are you so sure he wasn't one of "the good guys"?" Rosier asked waspishly.

"Because he ran toward us, like he had a death wish, and sent a curse at Auror Patrick Proudfoot. It…it cut him right open. He bled to death."

"Then he apparated away?" Rosier remembered that night well. He had killed Madame Plumata, not Harry, and he had grabbed him and apparated with him to headquarters only to get a gallon of water in his face and a kick to the hip.

"No, another Death Eater grabbed him and apparated away."

Rosier folded his hands in his lap. "And why do you think that was?"

"I don't know – maybe he doesn't have his Apparation License."

"Or maybe he was an unwilling participant? Kidnapped?" Harry stared at Rosier.

Dawlish looked uncomfortable. "I suppose that could have been the case Mr. Rosier."

"When was your next run in with him?" Judge Lawlen, a grey-haired witch, asked.

"We got a fire-call from Walburga Black, she said that a boy matching the description of the Shadow had entered her home and held them at wand point. He was described as being hostile, but confused."

"You observed the scene, did you not?" Dawlish nodded. "What did you see?"

"The suspect had fled toward the park across the street, so we followed him. We saw the Black House afterwards. There was overturned furniture, burn marks; Orion Black had a shattered ankle."

The Minister was leaning forward in rapt attention, "How did he get in?"

"How he got in…we still haven't figured it out. The home is under Fidelus Charm and warded."

"You spoke to him in the park?" asked Umbridge.

"Yes. He confessed to killing an Auror, but said he wasn't a Death Eater."

"So he confessed then, but not now. Interesting. Did he struggle as you tried to arrest him?"

"He put up a good fight. He broke three of Auror Cunningham's ribs, and knocked out a few of my front teeth. Gave us a couple of good bruises too."

"But you managed to apprehend him?" asked Judge Appatow.

"No, he stupefied us and left us tied up in the park."

"I thought you were a specialist?" asked Rosier. A smattering of laughter rang out from the stands.

Dawlish smiled and chuckled. "I thought so too. The type of style The Shadow had is…very unpredictable. Hard to duel against."

"As you have already informed us Mr. Dawlish," said Dumbledore, "When was the next time you interacted with him?"

"At the Weasley Home Situation, we – Savage, Tonks, and I - set up anti-apparition wards."

"How did this fight compare to the other fights?" asked Rosier.

"His demeanor had changed. He was very cheeky. He had let Gideon and Fabian take Charlie without a fight."

"No fight? Yet he didn't give himself up willingly?" asked another wizard, one Rosier didn't know.

"He didn't seem to want to fight; he was just standing there, being a cocky smart-ass."

"Saying what?"

"Jabs at Auror Savage mostly –about his mum and taunting him about liking underage wizards."

Rosier fought hard to keep from laughing. So Harry had been delivering quips like the ones he shot off at the Dark Lord?

Another witch, Judge Hemm, was leafing through a folder, "According to your reports there was an "Aerial battle". What exactly does this mean?"

"He fought him, Savage, in the air, yes. He Accio'd a broom. Clever. Savage grabbed a hold of his leg, so most of it was the boy trying to shake Savage off of him, and me trying to hit the boy."

"You couldn't hit him?"

"He's a great flyer. Must have played Quidditch. Moves like a Seeker. Did things on that broom I didn't think were possible."

"That's because I _am_ a Seeker," Harry commented loudly. Rosier hushed him. The Minister eyed him apprehensively.

"Then what happened?" asked the Minister.

"Savage set the broom tail on fire. It lit up the whole forest as the kid was flying through it."

"He crashed after that?"

"No – he made me turn upside-down, but didn't disarm me. I hit him with _Confundus_ and he crashed. Then the backup team arrived."

"Was he, in your opinion, acting on some sort of mission – or maybe a vendetta against the Weasley Family?"

"I don't think so. He seemed more like he was trying to escape – like his plan had gone bad - than to purposefully hurt us."

"Thank you for your statements. That will be all." Dawlish returned to his seat. "Now, the witnesses for the accused. Lawman Evan Rosier, will you call up your witnesses?"

Rosier nodded. "Of course, sir. Neville, you're up."

The crowd murmured as Neville nervously made his way to the stand. Harry watched him warily.

"Neville, my boy," Dumbledore began, "you don't have to do this-"

Neville waived off Dumbledore. "Thank you professor, but I do," he said defiantly. "My name is Neville Longbottom. I am a sixth year Gryffindor student at Hogwarts."

None of the Wizengamot spoke. They stared at Neville, seemingly unbelieving of his presence on the stand.

"Well, since our judges are rendered speechless, I'll begin!" Rosier chirped. "Neville, would you please tell the audience why you are on the stand, defending a so called Death Eater, today?"

"I would not be on this stand defending him if I thought he was a Death Eater. Voldemort killed my family and is constantly putting my friends and loved ones in danger. Suffice it to say, Harry would not be one of the people I support if he was in any way associated with Voldemort."

"So, you do not believe Harry is a Death Eater?"

"The allegations against Harry – with the exception of the Auror's death – are based on circumstantial evidence at best."

"Aren't most Death Eater claims?"

"Yes. But many Death Eaters admit to actually being Death Eaters – even if they were under _Imperius_ the whole time. None have ever claimed whole-heartedly that they were never Death Eaters. Harry's honest. He hasn't once lied to us. He admitted to grand theft aero and killing Proudfoot. He truly believes that certain aspects of his life are real. He is simple speaking his truth, as he sees it. And he's said several times that he is not a Death Eater – in fact, he seems to despise them more than I do. If he were a Death Eater, he would have caused serious harm to me when I ran into him at Diagon Alley."

"Didn't you fight him at Diagon Alley?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, no," Neville began sheepishly, "He seemed to have accidentally run into me. Acted like we were friends who hadn't seen each other in a long time and wanted to say hi. I tried to fight him – he kept trying to run away, but I wouldn't let him. I wanted a fight, Harry didn't."

Rosier nodded. "So then, why do you think Harry has been cast as a villain – a Death Eater?"

Neville turned his gaze to the Minister as he spoke, "It's because the Minister cannot control his government."

A murmur ran through the crowd and people began moving in their seats. The rising volume of the room drowned out the sound of Quik Quills scribbling furiously. Harry snorted loudly. He couldn't believe it! The look on the Minister's face was priceless as he roared, "Excuse me, Mister Longbottom? How dare you-" above the din of the chamber.

"Minister – I implore you to let Neville explain. You do not wish to stifle his opinion like a tyrant, do you?" Rosier asked calmly, loudly.

"This is slander!" shouted the Minister.

Judge Appatow banged his gavel. "ORDER! ORDER!" The crowd settled. "Minister, please allow the witness to elaborate." The judge beckoned Neville to continue. Harry leaned forward in his chair as much as the restraints would allow him.

Neville sent a nervous look toward Harry, who offered a strong nod in return.

Neville set his jaw, straightened his back, and pressed forward. "He needs people to believe that he has everything under control, when he doesn't. That is why he needed my support – which I recently retracted – and that is why he needs a scapegoat. Harry is the perfect scapegoat: lost, confused, broken, and caught in the middle of something he doesn't understand. The Minister wants Harry in jail because that will mean a "bad man" has been caught, and the public's faith in the Minister will be restored. It's all a fake. Harry's a patsy for a corrupt government. His actions are despicable – trying to put blame on a sick boy and then throw him into Azkaban? Who does that? Harry does not need a Kiss or lifetime in Azkaban – he needs help that only qualified medi-witches can provide."

The room was silent. Rosier looked toward the panel of Wizengamot Judges.

"I think that is more than enough Neville. It seems the Wizengamot has no further questions, and neither do I. You may step down," Rosier paused and stood before turning to face the audience. "I believe it is time for the defense's Expert Witness to step up."

Harry watched as Neville stepped off the witness stand and walked toward him. All eyes were on Neville as he sat in Rosier's recently vacated seat. Neville looked at Harry, leaned over, and straightened his glasses.

"Er…thanks," Harry said, unsure of what to say. Neville smiled grimly and turned his attention to the front of the room where the final witness – Healer Black – was beginning to speak.

"My name is Healer Cygnus Black the Third. If you must know, I was in Slytherin at Hogwarts some time ago." Cygnus smiled.

Rosier looked at the judges. "Nothing?" He asked, his eyebrows arched high in disbelief. He turned his attention to the thick manila folder in his hand."Well then… Healer Black, in this report – titled Harry Potter and the Abnormal Psychology, by the way, very clever – you explicitly state why Harry Potter needs to be committed so Saint Mungos Long-term Psychology Ward. Why?"

"I am of the opinion that Harry suffers from some sort of severe psychological trauma that has caused a separate entity – or personality, even- to be born and with it false memories. We do not know any more than this as mind healing is a very tricky art, unlike say, healing a burn. It will take more time, and more tests, for us to be able to tell what, exactly, is wrong and how to fix it."

Rosier sent a look toward Harry, reminding the boy to keep his mouth shut. "What is this "separate entity", diagnostically speaking?"

"It could be a number of things – like I said, I did not have enough time to come to a specific diagnoses regarding Harry's mental state other than the fact that he would benefit from further therapy, testing, and institutionalization, not Azkaban, where he would be surrounded by Dementors and further succumb to the mental illness which clearly plague's him."

"A number of things. You have no examples?"

"It is highly possible that Harry suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder, or even a form of Schizophrenia; only further observation will allow us to make a proper diagnosis."

"What leads you to believe it's one of those disorders?"

"His delusions – a separate life, friends, family –paranoia and occasional disorganized behavior point to Paranoid Schizophrenia; while those symptoms plus a few others, such as his frequent headaches and loss of time can be attributed to Dissociative Identity Disorder."

Dumbledore began, "What other symptoms or odd behavior did you witness in the accused?"

"I believe it's in the report, Dumbledore."

"For the audience, then."

Cygnus smiled grudgingly. "Of course. Harry was very confused, agitated, depressed, but entirely lucid and with a good sense of humor. Snappish one-liners, like the ones I believe Auror Savage was victim of."

"It says in your report that Harry claims to be able to speak Parseltongue," Dumbledore paused and waited for the audience to quiet, "will you please explain?"

"It's possible that Harry's ability to speak with snakes has been a great stressor for him. In his "reality", his believed A-time line, Harry infrequently spoke with snakes – a python in the zoo who wanted to visit Brazil, for example – I'm afraid there isn't much to elaborate on."

"Even Harry's "reality" that he spoke with a Basilisk?"

"That's not what happened!" Harry yelled. Beside him, Neville nearly jumped out of his seat. All attention turned to him. "I could hear it – it was using the pipes in Hogwarts to get around – that's how I found it. Well, how Hermione found it. I killed it. With the sword of Gryffindor. I never actually spoke with it."

"That is indeed what happened Harry," Cygnus said, "If Albus had read the file properly and not merely skimmed he would have realized that." He looked at Dumbledore, "Please do no invalidate my patient's A-timeline, even if you believe it untrue, it upsets him greatly and complicates the healing process."

"Hem hem," Umbridge smiled sweetly at Cygnus, "why haven't you come to a conclusion yet?"

"We were not given enough time. The Ministry told us to expedite our practices. They seemed to want to get this over with as quickly as possible. Then, there was a break-in. The Aurors still do not know what the culprit was after. Luckily, we had made copies of Harry's file for the case. At any rate, that break in was the endpoint for the Ministry."

Judge Appatow stood. "It seems the witnesses have given us a lot to contemplate. We will announce our decision in two hours time."

* * *

"Still think he's brainwashed, Moony?" Sirius asked, clamping a big hand on his friend's shoulder.

Remus shook his head. "What happened to his wand?"

James looked at him, eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What?"

"He had his own wand at Hogsmeade – I think – and then he didn't. He had to use Charlie's wand. What happened to his wand?" Remus gestured aimlessly into the air. "Doesn't make sense."

"Maybe he didn't want to be a wizard anymore and he threw it away; or he really is the Death Eaters secret weapon and doesn't need a wand." Nate said, jumping into the conversation. His father was giving him _that_ look, so he continued on, "or maybe he lost it in a duel. Probably that. Lost it in a duel." He shrugged.

"Just look at him, sitting there, like nothing is wrong," Tonks said. She was watching the boy, Harry, who was left in his restrained chair, his lawyer and Neville by his side. "It's creepy. He's creepy. This is way too elaborate to be a hoax – did you read the file? I wish I could hear what they're saying."

James looked down at him. He honestly didn't know why the Wizengamot left him there, maybe it was to make him uncomfortable. The boy – Harry – was sitting there casually (or, as casually as one can when restrained in a chair) and listening to something Rosier was saying. Harry spoke and both Rosier and Neville laughed.

"They're talking about Quidditch. Rosier is a Kenmare Kestrels fan."

"How do you know that?" asked an astonished Tonks.

"I can read lips. How'd you get your hands on the file?" James asked.

"Well, I didn't. Dawlish did though. The Minister gave him a copy to help analyze the kid's fighting style, just in case, you know, something happened. He wasn't supposed to say anything, but he told me some of the stuff in there – it's crazy." She shook her head.

"Well don't just sit there!" Sirius said, "Tell us something. Was that Basilisk thing true?"

She began in hushed tones, "Oh yeah! Happened in his second year, apparently. I know! You are his godfather too – or you were…you got pushed through The Archway in his fifth year and then he inherited Grimmauld Place. I guess that's why he went there….thought it was his."

Nate narrowed his eyes, thinking. "What's the arch-mmmyyy" he flailed as his father covered his mouth with his hand.

"Not now Nate," James said glancing around. He removed his hand.

"What happened to his wand?" Remus asked.

James sighed, exasperated, "Why are you stuck on this whole wand thing?"

"I don't know! It seems important. Was it in the file?"

Tonks nodded slyly. "It was. He said Voldemort has it."

No one spoke for a while. They were all too busy thinking of the implications of that statement. Maybe he was a Death Eater – the sheer amount of suspected Death Eaters in the audience alone pointed to that - and this was all a clever, intricate plot to something greater and far more dangerous. Maybe he had been held captive and managed to escape. Maybe all the rumors were true. But then, what did they make of Neville? Was all hope gone?

"Crazy."

* * *

"We, the Wizengamot, find Harry James Potter, guilty of all charges. However, due to the medical opinion given and the witness testimony highlighting Mr. Potter's unstable mental state, we rule in favor of placing Harry James Potter in the care of Long Term Psychology Ward. He is to be treated as a highly dangerous wizard, and no magic is to be used in his presence. An outline of the requirements for his holding has been drawn up, and will be available to the public for viewing."

Harry bowed his head. He was crazy.

The judge banged his gavel. "I declare this Wizengamot Trial A344H2C closed."

* * *

Harry wanted to die.

He was trapped behind a stonewall, like Fortunato.

Except it wasn't stone. It was _padded_ stone.

He sighed and rested his forehead on the white wall. His head hurt. It was pounding. His heart was pounding. Or maybe it was his head. Or the wall. Could a wall move? Each rhythmic _thump thump thump_ of his heart created a new searing pain in his head. Or maybe it was the thumping coming from the room next door. _Thump_, _thump_, _thump_. All day and all night the noises had come from the room next to him, never ceasing. Harry wondered what it was. He listened more closely. Each bang on the wall timed perfectly with each _thump_ of his heart and each blast of pain in his head.

Harry wanted to rip whoever it was apart. Into shreds. Tiny shreds. His head hurt.

How long had he been here? There was no time in this room.

_Thump_, _thump_, _thump_.

Harry kicked at the wall. It was spongy. "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!" he cried. The noises stopped. Harry sighed in relief. _Thump, thump, thump_. Harry crumpled onto the floor, covered his ears.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the lights. They were so bright. It was like looking into the sun. "I can't believe I was sentenced to ." He lay, entranced by the light above him for some time. He did not know how long. There was no time in this white dungeon.

He counted tiles to pass the time. Sometimes the thumping would distract him.

Forty-one. Forty –two. Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five. Forty-six. _Thump_. Forty-seven. _Thump_. Forty-_Thump_. Harry sighed. He lost count. He would have to start over. All because of that stupid thumper on the other side of the wall.

Sometimes the wailer on the other side would begin to cry and he'd lose count. Sixty-eight. Sixty-nine. Seventy. Seventy – Harry sat up. He heard her crying through the wall. He crawled over and placed his ear to the cold wall. Crying, again. Wailing. Like a banshee. Harry hated her too.

Sometimes, he would manage to get to the tiles on the ceiling, and then he would get lost in the light and lose count.

"What is happening to me?" Harry asked. No one would answer. He was all alone in this place. The guards never answered his questions. He never had any visitors. Well, he did. He had his new doctor. They wouldn't let Cygnus work with him anymore – Harry didn't know why. So Harry refused to speak with the new Healer. They would sit there, on the floor, staring at each other. The Healer would ask questions, and Harry would never answer.

"I need to get out." Harry sat straight up. "Before I literally go crazy. Am I crazy already? Yes. No." he shook his head. He was so confused.

"My name is Harry Potter. My name is Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Boy-Who-Will-Save-Everyone."

Yes. That's it. He just needed an idea to latch onto. "I have all the time in the world to plan what I need to do." Harry smiled lazily. He had to break out, somehow, find the horcruxes, and defeat Voldemort. Find the horcruxes.

Where to begin his search? Nagini. He needed to kill Nagini. That would be last, since Voldemort kept the snake close. He's chop her head off with the sword of Gryffindor. The locket. Harry needed to destroy that too. But he didn't have it. He had no idea where it was.

Harry delicately traced his scar with a finger. There was nothing. No pain. No images. Nothing. His connection was gone. At one time, Harry had thought that maybe _he_ was a horcrux. But now…Harry didn't know. There was nothing connecting him to Voldemort. No magical brainpowers shared between the two.

What did it all mean?

Locket. Nagini. Him. That would have made the count five horcruxes. Diary, Ring, Locket, Nagini. Four out of six. What else could there be? Harry didn't know. Even if he did, he was trapped here. This magic-less room. He couldn't go out and hunt the rest down.

Every day he thought about it. Listing in his head, over and over and over again. Horcruxes. Day after day after day.

Harry stared at the wall. He felt listless today. Since he had discovered that he was utterly screwed.

"What is today's date?"

No answer. Harry shook his bangs out of his eyes.

"How long have I been here?"

Seems like months and months and months.

"How am I going to break out of here?"

Harry laid on the floor. He wanted to stare at the lights again. He placed his glasses beside him on the floor.

"You can't Harry. No magic, remember? I'm so screwed. Stuck here forever."

Harry bolted upright. "Dear god, I'm talking to myself! Out loud!"

"And you look bloody crazy too." Wait a second – Harry hadn't said that. Harry's head snapped toward the voice.

"That always makes a bloke feel good about himself." Harry squinted at the intruder, who shoved Harry's glasses back onto his face. Harry reflexively pushed them up his nose. "You? How did you get in here?"

* * *

**I'm not very fond of this chapter :\ It was longer - but I took some parts out, and moved others parts to the next chapter because it flowed a lot better (which is one of the reasons for the delay! Sorry folks. The other is because I'm editing (and improving) previous chapters as I write the next few - I'll let you know when I'm done! - because FF ate part of the story and messed up all the formatting. Lame!)**

**Please review! I love you all :)**


	15. Masked Part 1

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**A/N 1: This is just part of 1 of chapter M, I've been extremely busy with family stuff, so I figured I'd at least put this part out for you :) It is short though. boo. **

**A/N 2: From the first Daily Prophet article, about Neville, on is a FLASHBACK. **

**

* * *

**_Masked_

_

* * *

_

"You don't believe it, do you Sirius?"

"Believe what, James?" Sirius asked grumpily. He was currently standing at his kitchen table in fuzzy slippers and rather fashionable silk boxers, pouring tea for one James Potter at three in the morning.

"Have you even listened to a word I said?" James huffed. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"Don't get huffy with me!" Sirius said loudly, gesturing wildly with the kettle, "You're the one traipsing around St. Mungos at odd hours, probably all dark and brooding in the shadows, then you come knock on my door, and fling your stuff all over my home!" Sirius sent a dark look toward the wet traveling cloak that had been discarded into a pile on the floor.

"I was not _traipsing_ around. I happened upon a suspicious character, and I followed him. That's all."

"And following that suspicious character made you suffer a monumental hysterical breakdown?"

"No. I…." James swirled his spoon in his tea, trying to dissolve the extra clumps of sugar.

"You what," Sirius said impatiently. He sat opposite his friend and took a deep drink.

"I may have broken into Harry Potter's cell and spoken with him."

Sirius choked on his tea and nearly spilled the contents of the dainty cup all over his delicate man parts. "You what?" he asked in disbelief.

"In my defense, I only did it to investigate what said suspicious character had been doing in there."

Sirius was, for once, at a loss for words. All he could choke out was a rather high-pitched "What." James was staring gloomily into his teacup so Sirius continued, "Who is this suspicious character?"

James sighed. "I don't know. That's why he's a suspicious character. He had this cool cloak with a hood that obscured his face. I want one, for my birthday."

"What happened? You have to tell me the whole story now!"

"Not much. He was standing there and I asked him "What are you doing?" and he was all "Nothing, just out for a leisurely stroll." So I told him I saw him talking to Potter, that it was illegal, and he goes "So?"" James sipped his tea, contemplated it, and then added more sugar to his cup.

"Did you ask what he was doing with Potter?"

"Of course," James replied indignantly, "and you know what he said? He said "Why don't you go and ask him yourself?" So I did." James itched his nose. "I went in there and Harry looked up at me and asked who I was, so I told him. James Potter. And the kid looked at me and went "No shit?" It was surreal. This whole situation is…weird."

Sirius nodded in agreement. "So, did he tell you what they talked about?"

"Yes. He said it wasn't much, the person just asked if he knew anything about alternate universes – parallel dimensions."

"Why would…that doesn't make any sense." Sirius trail off in thought.

"I know. Then I noticed the most peculiar thing." James paused, unsure if he should continue. Sirius beckoned him on. "He has the same exact scar as Neville."

Sirius sat wide-eyed. "You don't think…."

* * *

"Black! There you are!" A rough hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Where did you get off too?"

"Just doing some business," he replied politely, though his heart was thumping wildly in his throat, "I'm headed home shortly, though. Cookie?"

Rabastan Lestrange denied Regulus' offer of Narcissa's homemade chocolate chip cookies. Regulus shrugged – it meant more for him. Rabastan busied himself making tea, pouring too much water into a mug, making a mess as he tried to seep the leaves, blabbering about some inane cauldron regulations. Regulus desperately wanted his friend to leave. He wanted to be alone, he needed to think.

More thinking. That is what it always came down to – thinking. For the past three months, he had studied that _boy's_ file, looking for a way to fit all the pieces together. The Sorting Hat had been right when it told him he could do well in Ravenclaw.

Practically all he had done was read that blasted file. That and attend meetings – as was natural. A lot had happened over these past these months.

* * *

_DAILY PROPHET EXCLUSIVE: SHADOW TRIAL EDITION_

_NEVILLE MAKES MOCKERY OF MINISTER_

_January 30__th__ – As many Witches and Wizards know, the Daily Prophet is the only wizarding newspaper allowed in the courtrooms on January 28__th__ for the trial of menace "Harry Potter", also known as The Shadow. Among many shocking revelations that morning, the British populace will be shocked to learn that Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived, has stated his support for The Shadow, slamming the Minister in the process. Has the Boy-Who-Lived become the Boy-Who-Lost-His-Marbles? _

_Neville railed against current Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, claiming he had no control over his cabinet, and accusing the Minister of widespread cover-ups reminiscent of The Crouch Trials .Is Neville on to something? Investigative Journalist Rita Skeeter believes (Story continued on page B3)_

"Alls I'm sayin is-" came Travers loud voice, interrupting Regulus' train of thought. He peered curiously over the edge of his copy of the Daily Prophet to observe the scene before him.

There were several Death Eaters and recent inductees gathered around a rickety wooden table, its top covered in chips, playing cards, and half-filled snifters, in the far corner of the stuffy common room. Three more wizards were observing the game from afar – two leaning against the windowsill, arms crossed, and one near the bookshelf, alternating between the game and browsing the titles. They were, like Regulus, waiting for the word to begin their latest mission. With The Shadow imprisoned earlier that morning, the Dark Lord figured it would be a perfect time to attack the partying wizarding world, and further the perception that the fearful figure was indeed one of his own – and that he wasn't very happy with the recent turn of events. Regulus knew this was not true, the boy was, and never had been, a Death Eater, but he marveled at the Dark Lord's plan to increase fear amongst their enemies. They were all jittery at the thought of another attack – they had not executed one since Hogsmeade.

"We know what you're saying Travers, and you're wrong!" Barty took a swig of his drink and rearranged the cards in his hand, his gaunt face contorted devilishly. Barty had been a good friend of his during his years at Hogwarts, but even Regulus had to admit the man had become unhinged during his stay at Azkaban.

"Wut! 'ow can I be wrong? It 'asnt even 'appened yet!" Travers waved his hand, cigarette between two fingers, in the air, "Your turn Rabastan."

"You can be wrong because it was clearly stated last week that Martha is in love with Gerold. Why would she run away with Ryan? Makes no sense Travers." Rabastan studied Yaxley carefully as a few on looking 6th years murmured their agreement. "Got any 2s Yaxley?" he asked slyly.

"HA! Go fish!" Yaxley yelled at the same time Travers grumbled "She's in love wit' Ryan too, don't see 'ow I'm wrong on this."

"There's no way she's going to elope with Ryan, Travers!" Rabastan said angrily as he grabbed from the pile of cards on the table. "Oh a Queen! That's a pair for me…"

"What are they nattering on about?" asked Regulus over his shoulder. He was sitting on a dark leather couch in front of a fireplace – he had the duty of taking attendance today – snacking on Cauldron Cakes. He set his newspaper on the coffee table. He didn't need to read Skeeter's theories on Neville, he had been there, he knew what happened.

"Some sort of soap opera on Wizarding Wireless," Malfoy drawled, "I can't recall the name. Narcissa listens to it though."

"_Healers_!" Mulciber cut in excitedly, grabbing a Cake, "It's about this witch, Healer Martha, who is new at the hospital and she falls in love with her patient, Gerold, who has an incurable form of cancer, even though she's engaged to the hospital's owner, Ryan."

"Right, right," Regulus said slowly.

"It's very dramatic," Mulciber nodded quickly as he said this. He sat next to Regulus and opened his mouth to further explain. Regulus let out a small sigh of relief when Mulciber's explanation was interrupted by Nott tumbling out of the fireplace.

The wizard stood and dusted off his long cloak. "Masks on everybody!" he bellowed, "Time to go! Nobody muck this up – complete your own task!" The room sprang into action, wizards bustling about with their masks, leaving them hanging from their necks, and fastening their heavy hooded cloaks. "Line up, in pairs! You know the drill!"

Regulus moved to stand next to Nott as his colleagues formed two lines in front of the Floo. Dolohov, on Floo Powder duty, was pushing his way towards them through the crowd. He nodded to Regulus.

"Right, you ready?" Nott asked them, sending the first couple forward.

In pairs they stepped forward, stated their names to Regulus, who drew a tiny x in the attendance records – a bounded leather book written in a complex code, before telling them where they were to go. Dolohov then gave them a pinch of powder. The green flames would rare up around them, and in an instant, they were gone, only to be replaced by the next set of Death Eaters. And so they continued until only he and Dolohov were left, having sent Nott and Avery only moments before.

"Shall we?" Dolohov smiled wickedly as they stepped into the fireplace. "Flourish and Blotts!"

Regulus stepped out of the emerald fire and into the quiet, overstuffed bookstore. He could see Dolohov weaving through the stacks of books and shelves toward the front, until he lost him and only knew his friend had exited based on the tiny tinkering of a bell on the front door as it opened, nearly unheard among the shouts and screams floating through the shattered windows. His gaze flickered from the war scene outside to the owner of the shop, hanging upside-down, bound and gagged, and unconscious, next to him. He allowed himself a small smirk before readjusting his mask and slowly making his way through the winding shelves.

* * *

Smoke. All around him was smoke. He coughed and sputtered as it clogged his airway, choking him. He clutched his arm, wanting desperately the blood to stop flowing from the gaping wound. Someone had hit him with a spell he had not heard in ages, one an old friend, traitor, had created. Another curse, a hazy yellow one, flew dangerously close to his head. He turned and fired several of his own creations into the smoke, his only sign of success a dull thump as a body fell. Beside him he saw someone – he wasn't sure who – fire two sickly green curses; a pair of red-heads fell.

There was screaming. Occasionally he heard the Order Members shouting directions to one another, indistinguishable. He didn't notice, the screaming had become white noise.

"Wotcher, Black!" The man, Rosier perhaps, maybe Montague, cried out, clapping him harshly on the shoulder, "They almost got you again." Then they were separated once more, each dodging the sudden barrage of stunners sent their way. He ducked behind a smoldering pile of kindle, once a café, and watched as a thick, grizzly man in red robes slung hex after hex after his companion. He jerked and twitched as he heard spells zipping through the air, hitting the wood thickly or whizzing by his nose as he tried to figure out his next move.

Someone rolled next to him, having jumped out of the way of several nasty jinxes. His hood fell from his head, revealing cropped platinum hair. The stupid idiot wasn't wearing a mask.

"Draco, what on earth are you doing here!" he yelled above the din. He knew Lucius had expressly forbid Draco from attending this event.

"What, you expect me to just sit back and let you have all the fun?"

He sighed and removed his own mask, shoving it into his nephew's hand. You could barely see the bone white color underneath the ash, and there was a crack forming around the eyehole. "Put this on, it's too dangerous to not have one – they may recognize you."

"Gotcha!" A large man, thick as a rhino, grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pulled him from his hiding spot. He looked into the face of his attacker. An Auror.

He, having been in some physical tussles with his brother for years, knew when he was outmatched. He dove back behind the pile of rubble, the large Auror following him. Regulus may have been thin and no match for the man in a fistfight, but he knew he could win in a wrestling match.

He grappled with the Auror, kicking the man's leg out and locking his arm. He forced the larger man onto his back, dislocating his shoulder, before clambering away. The man tried to grab his foot, but Draco planted his foot firmly in the man's face, knocking him out and causing a fountain of blood to spurt forth.

"You've had some practice at that, eh?" Regulus asked jokingly.

Draco smirked, "Longbottom makes for excellent kickboxing practice."

"Put that mask on, Draco, they might-"

"Recognize me. What about-" A new group of spells hurtled over their heads, too close for comfort, which they instinctively cradled protectively as they attempted to sink lower in hiding. Draco paled and slipped the mask on. "What about you?"

He smirked. "You needn't worry about me Draco. I'll draw their fire, you get to somewhere safe."

He stood, ready to charge at the enemy, draw fire away from his godson. He ran, weaving through the less dangerous spells, ducking into alleys, blindly firing off Avada Kedavra after Avada Kedavra hoping to take out at least one piece of filth, succumbing to one jelly-legs jinx, which was quickly undone by an unknown masked man.

Finally he was trapped. In front of him Lupin, behind him Potter, twirling his wand.

It was time to do what he did best. Fight.

* * *

**Reviews are amazing!**

**The next two chapters are fully written - this is the only chapter I've been behind on, which has been the hold up. Sorry folks! Please forgive me, I was trying to get ahead :)**


	16. Masked Part 2

**Important note 1:** This chapter is all flashback. Current time is during the James-Sirius conversation taking place at the beginning of the previous section. The Death Eater discussion and Diagon Alley fighting in the previous chapter are also flashbacks (there will be a tiny time line at the end of this chapter to help explain!)

**Important note 2:** I have a kidney infection, so the next chapter may be a little behind because I didn't get to do a lot this week in between ER and doctor visits. Also, the grammar in this chapter is probably atrocious, but I will fix it when I'm feeling better. Enjoy! :)

* * *

_DAILY PROPHET EXCLUSIVE_

_DIAGON ALLEY IN RUINS_

_Feb 2 – On January 31__st__ at 11:59pm Death Eaters appeared at various locations in Diagon and Knockturn Alley and commenced the largest terrorist attack on Wizarding Britain. Hundreds are reported dead, though the exact number is unknown now, and the majority of the Alley is destroyed. Rescue efforts have continued through the night._

_This unprecedented attack quickly follows the sentencing of Harry "The Shadow" Potter. Minister Fudge told press "such an attack is clearly a message – these people are unhappy that they no longer have their "savior", the Dark Wizard known as The Shadow. We cannot allow them to bully us into releasing him, creating the potential for disaster."_

_The Following is a listing of missing Wizards and Witches – any information on their whereabouts is greatly appreciated and can be owled to the Daily Prophet Headquarters, in London –_

_Abrams, Johann  
Avalance, Coriline  
Belwicky, Henry  
Clappy, M. Pierre-_

Regulus looked up from the paper when he heard heavy, uneven footsteps nearby. Rosier, dark circles under his eyes, poked his head through the doorway.

"They're calling everyone in now," he said gruffly, as if something was lodged in his throat. Regulus followed Rosier down the hall, ignoring the other man's occasional grunt of pain – he had enough of his own pain to deal with after all - and through the oak doors that led to the Main Meeting Chamber.

Even Regulus had to admit that Rosier had not been the same since his narrow escape from that Auror, Moody, in Diagon Alley, merely three days ago. He had not seen the fight through the smoke, but Dolohov told him it was rather spectacular.

He entered the large circular room – the same room he had received his mark in, the same room he had cast his first _Avada Kedavra _in, the same room he had lead Harry Potter into months ago, the same room he had stolen the files out of. Regulus wondered what life-changing event would occur in this room today.

He weaved through the chattering crowed to stand in his position next to his uncle. He heard Bella's high laughter above the noise. He could see Lucius and Draco's white-bold hair beneath their hoods. Beside him, Rosier snorted and rolled his eyes before leaning casually against the mantle of the fireplace.

The air was stale and heavy, having the smell of an old unopened closet. Regulus could see motes of dust in slivers of red light, from the sinking sun, sneaking in through the shoddily drawn curtains. A sudden hush fell over the room as a few remaining Death Eaters scurried to their proper location. The doors opened with force, banging against the walls and bouncing back slightly. Voldemort stood at the entrance, every man and woman's eye focused on him, watching him.

The Dark Lord's eyes grazed over the crowd, settling finally on him. A cruel smirk emerged on his lips. "Regulus," Regulus stiffened but kept his head down. "Stand. Remove your cloak."

Regulus stood hesitantly. He peers curiously at Voldemort through the eye openings in his mask but knows better than to say anything. He raised a gloved hand to the shiny silver clasp at his throat and released it, allowing the heavy overcoat to fall to the floor. Voldemort's lip curled in disgust.

"Remove your shirt."

Regulus stares at the Dark Lord before glancing around him. He can feel everyone watching him, wondering the same thing he is – what the hell is going on? He slips off his gloves, shoving them into his back pants pocket, and undoes the cufflinks. He slowly undoes his tie, fiddling with it in his hands for a moment before he drops it on top of his cloak. He begins to unbutton his shirt, unsure. He takes extra care to not disturb the tight bandages on his chest, shoulder, and arm – the ones keeping his gash from the raid on Diagon Alley together – when he removes the dark shirt and tosses it to the floor next to his bunched up cloak. He feels ridiculous standing there shirtless, in a mask and dress pants.

The Dark Lord smiles and it looks odd and chill inducing upon his face, like it pains him to do it. He stands from his high-backed chair and walks gracefully toward Regulus, his green cloak billowing behind him. "Your bandages – off," he commands. Regulus cannot do anything but agree and unwrap his arm. He drops the pink-tinged cloth to the floor, revealing a partially scabbed over cut, deep and long, starting at his collarbone and arcing down his bicep to his inner elbow. Some parts of the cut were peeling open again, resistant to healing potions and spells, slowly, painfully.

All eyes are trained upon him and Voldemort now.

"How did you get this wound?" he asks as he reaches out and traces a long, thin, pale finger over the red raised skin. Regulus shudders at the touch and stifles a hiss of pain. It stings.

"In Diagon Alley, I was hit by an unknown curse while I was dueling an Auror. I – I was caught unprepared, my Lord." Voldemort is standing close to him, staring into his eyes. Regulus wills his mind to clear, focusing on the sting of his injury and nothing else.

Voldemort pulled away quickly, leaving Regulus' wound reopened and bleeding. "And you can not heal it, why?"

"I don't know the counter-curse my Lord."

Voldemort stood in the center of the circle of Death Eaters, his arms raised to the side. He turned to look at each of them, his dark robes swirling sinisterly around his ankles. "None of you know the counter-curse?" His slit-like nose flares. The only answer he received was the howling of the wind against the large glass windows.

He moves suddenly toward a dark mahogany desk. Atop the desk, lay something white Regulus had not noticed before and could not identify. Voldemort inhaled deeply, the air sucked between his teeth creating a low hissing sound.

"I know of this particular curse – the spell that gave you that wound. Yet I do not believe the secret to its reversal has died with him." He speaks in a low voice, facing away from them, caressing the white object. He pauses and looks over his shoulder. His pale hand grasps the object and pulls it forward. It flutters through the air and scatters papers before floating to the ground, revealing the stiff corpse of a black-haired man with a hooked nose.

"And what, Regulus, happens to those who betray me?" Voldemort asked. His blood red eyes seem to bore into Regulus' soul. He hears the rustling of cloaks, caused by Death Eaters shifting uncomfortably.

Regulus swallows thickly, his eyes resting upon the body of Severus Snape. "Death, my Lord."

Voldemort smiles again. "Indeed. Nagini," he hissed as he prodded Snape's head with his yew wand, perhaps to extract a silvery strand of memories. Snape's head lolled to the side and Voldemort stared disdainfully at it. "Dinner."

Everyone in the room stood still as Nagini slithers across the floor and up the desk. Regulus' stomach turned as he watched the snake's mouth unhinge and, in one giant gulp, cover the head and shoulders of his old housemate.

"The Shadow," Voldemort sneers at the name, "is still under our control in St. Mungos?" Regulus has to drag his eyes away from the ensuing carnage, forcing himself to focus on the Dark Lord. He knows others have trouble looking away too.

"Yes my Lord," Cygnus answers. "He is currently being held in a solitary long-term room."

"And the Prophet, Rabastan?"

"Still printing anti-Shadow articles my Lord. The most recent trying to connect him to our most recent attack on Diagon Alley. They have even been critical of Dumbledore's renegade group – The Order. Rumors are circulating about who the actual members are -"

"Very good. Follow the leads on these alleged Order members. The public still fears the Shadow – still believes he is a weapon of mine. Let them continue with these foolish delusions. I intend to use this to my advantage, as a distraction, whilst we pursue the cleansing of the wizarding world and I finally get my hands on that Longbottom brat." Voldemort pauses and glances sidelong at Rosier. "Evan. Ensnare the Longbottom boy with your wits and charm. Gain his favor."

Rosier's voice is muffled slightly by his mask but his answer rings clearly through the room. "Yes my Lord."

"Convince him to partner with the Ministry once again. With him," Voldemort continues, "back in place, infiltration shall be easier. Since Wiggins was of no use – this falls on your shoulders Evan. I except the Ministry to be under my control soon."

"Of course, my Lord. The Longbottom boy trusts too easily. After the trial, I am sure he will be easy to persuade."

By the time the meeting was dismissed only a shoe remained of Severus Snape.

* * *

_WEREWOLVES FIGHT BACK "WE HAVE RIGHTS!" RIOTS BEGIN_

_March 13__th__ – Hundreds of Werewolves and Werewolf Supporters gathered at the United Wizarding Federation's biannual Summit in protest of the recently implemented Werewolf Control and Regulation Laws in Great Britain. Armed with signs and chants, trouble started when German Aurors arrived on the scene and tried to disband protestors._

_Chaos reigned as many began attacking Aurors, who fired stunners into the unruly crowd in self-defense, before moving on to unsuspecting Muggles. In total 3 Million galleons worth of damage to property was caused by overturning cars, setting fires, breaking windows, and various other destructive means. German officials believe millions more was lost due to widespread looting, wizard and Muggle alike. An unknown number of Muggles and Aurors were injured. 34 arrests were made._

_Several similar riots have begun worldwide. In Perth, Australia, riots have created raging fires and upwards of 50 deaths._

_Wizengamot Official and Lawmaker Hyacinth Car stated today that these events make it clear that the Werewolf Control and Regulation Laws are needed in Britain. Read his full speech on page A4._

"She won't even let me touch her anymore!"

"Dear Merlin, Rudolphous, I do not want to hear this!" Regulus cried from behind his newspaper. He flips the page with too much force and rips of the corner.

"I've always know she doesn't want to have kids, but this is just getting ridiculous. A man has needs you know!"

Regulus grunts and folds the paper up, giving up on attempting to continue reading. "I need for you to spare me from this conversation," he says, his hand rubbing his temple.

"I tried enticing her with some new undergarments, fancy ones," Rudolphous winked, "but that didn't work, so I bought some toys-"

Regulus stands from the leather chair and glares down at Rudolphous, who was lounging on the couch. "This is my cousin you're talking about; I don't want to hear about it."

"Well," Rudolphous began huffily, now standing nose to nose with Regulus, "No need to be rude, Regulus. I thought you wouldn't mind since all the Blacks are inbred anyway."

"That's not true!"

Rudolphous turned away and walked across the room to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a goblet of mead and took a healthy gulp. He ignores Regulus' denial of inbreeding and changes the subject. "Say, have you found a witch yet? It is about time you've settled down."

"I've been busy."

"Oh. Doing what?" Rodolphous asked as he refilled his goblet.

"Business."

Rodolphous laughs loudly. It is a deep, bone-jarring laugh. "Of course you are-" a knock on the door interrupts him.

"Black, you ready? I've got the portkey."

"Wotcher Crouch. One moment," Regulus answers as he pulls his new mask over his face, "Good luck, Rodolphous." Regulus waggles his fingertips at his cousin before a teacup whisks him away.

The teacup drops him and Crouch in a familiar patch of woods. Regulus waits for Crouch to brush the dirt off his knees before they begin the trek toward their observation station, hidden within a wheat field. The stalks are over head high, concealing them from prying eyes, and their tails rattle when the bitter wind blows, masking their noisy feet. They have been watching the inhabitants of The Burrow for a month now. Rabastan had received a lead that many of the Weasley Family members were part of Dumbledore's freedom fighting group.

Regulus places a warming charm on his hands and rubs them together. Its especially cold tonight. Together they sit on the hard ground, concealed by magic and wheat, and watch the home. Regulus can see they have a visitor tonight – one who comes around often. It is his own cousin, her mother cut from the family tree. Her hair is still lank and mousy brown. He watches a twin in a green dragon leather suit bring her a cup.

Barty's voice breaks the silence of the night. "What do you think it feels like?"

"What do I think what feels like?" He takes a drink of cocoa from a silver thermos.

"Your elements." Barty looks up into the stars. "We are all star dust aren't we? Can you...imagine what your elements feel like?"

"My. Elements." Regulus glances up at the stars – he sees Orion – before making a face at his friend. "What. Are you – did you smoke some Gillyweed?"

Barty frowns at him. "No. I was just….Tonks looks more upset than usual tonight. Rabastan said she's one of the rumored ones."

Regulus turns and watches the scene playing out inside. He has to squint a little because they are sitting further away than usual. "I suppose so." He shrugs and takes another gulp of his steaming drink.

* * *

He sighs as he picks through the pile of newspapers on the kitchen counter looking for the most recent one.

_THE DAILY PROPHET PAGE B3 MARCH 25__TH_

_MOX POX EPIDEMIC : HOW TO PROTECT YOUR FAMILY_

_Recent studies have shown an increase in Mox Pox outbreaks across the UK and Western Europe. The most common symptoms include-_

He flips through the pages of the paper, looking for the small paragraph that mentions Albus Dumbledore, his old school Headmaster. He finds it, after nearly twenty minutes of searching, next to the article entitle _GIANTS UPROOT TREES IN SURREY._

_- Headmaster Albus Dumbledore refused to comment on the apparent deaths of two of Hogwarts Alumni, Fabian and Gideon Prewitt. Both men, twins, have been missing since the January 31__st__ attack on Diagon Alley. He stated that he did not believe The Shadow has been controlling the recent Dark Magic activity from his cell in St. Mungos, calling the boy – also known as Harry Potter – an unhinged young man, with a warped mind and terrible hallucinations that endanger the wizarding community. Dumbledore has yet to comment on the Boy-Who-Lived's decision to testify for The Shadow. Sources say that a rift is growing between the boy wonder and his teacher. -_

He throws the paper into the trash bin. This was no help. He has not learned anything new yet. He glances at the paper littering the table – they are the copies of The Shadow's file. One catches his eye. He cocks his head and pulls it from the table. Its Harry's reiteration of a meeting with Dumbledore. He mentions looking at memories of someone named Tom Riddle, and laughing at Memory Dumbledore's flamboyant suit. He sits and reads the continuing papers – all about these meetings with Dumbledore. Regulus finds himself captivated. He wonders briefly about how The Shadow must feel about Dumbledore's harsh words against him. It seems like the boy believed he and Dumbledore were close. A word catches his eye – he has seen it before in the texts from the family library, but this was the first time he had read it in the file. He searches through the rest of the papers – it appears again and again. How had he never noticed this? He stands, his chair toppling over, and grabs his cloak, the words still on his tongue.

* * *

*"Did you read this Regulus?" his dad calls out to him from the chair beside the fireplace. They are in the Black Family Library, Regulus surrounded by ancient tomes and his father surrounded by scotch. "On April 4th Aurors responded to a break in at the Ministry of Magic – this was just last night!" His father scoffs and he hears the paper crumple. "The damn Ministry is getting more incompetent by the minute. I can't wait until more appropriate leadership is put into place."

"What'd it say happened?" Regulus asks as he tosses aside another thick leather book. There was nothing useful in that one either.

"Something about the Hall of Prophecies – another one of those incidents. Commonplace, nowadays, aren't they?" His father watches him for a moment. "What exactly are you looking for?"

He shoves another book back onto the shelf. No mention in that one either. "Stuff for work."

"Work?"

"Yes sir."

The older man raises his eyebrow in disbelief. "You got a job?"

"Yes, father." He glances at the old grandfather clock as it begins to strike 9. "I have to go. Thanks for letting me take a look." He shrinks three promising looking books and places them in his pocket.

"Wait – Regulus – Where are you going?"

"Work!" He yells from inside the green floo fire.

His father sits on the chair and stares at the roaring fire, muttering to himself about rude sons.

* * *

He had not found any new information. It was already a little more than three months after the trial of The Shadow. He was running out of time.

"Rabastan?" he said, placing the cookie he had just bitten out of on the counter.

Rabastan did not look up from his tea but made a noise of acknowledgment.

"I have to go – if the Dark Lord asks, I'm on a very strong lead involving the Order members and mustn't be interrupted."

Rabastan eyed him suspiciously but nodded. "Good luck," he muttered as Regulus bounded out of the kitchen.

He ran down the manor steps and out the front doors, down the hedge trimmed stone pathway. He jogged to the old iron gates, which swung open with a creak. He slips through the opening and turns to stare at Malfoy Manor. It is cold out tonight. He turns on his heel and allows the familiar feeling of being squeezed through a tube to wash over him.

He appears three blocks from his flat in an empty alleyway. It is the usual place he apparates to and from. He pulls his cloak tightly around him, to protect himself from the cold. He walks down the wet pavement, the streetlights flickering on and off. His mind wanders to that words again – horcrux. What could The Shadow possibly be doing studying horcruxes? His attention is captured by a bright blue glow to his left. He stares across the street at a window showcase full of Muggle technology – the kind that shows moving pictures. There is a Muggle man standing in front, watching whatever is on. The colors – they are fascinating – like liquid or plasma, rippling with vibrant differences. He crosses the street and stands next to the Muggle.

He watches as a young man and several others jump through an opening – the rippling plasma colors of blue and purple and white – and are spit into another world.

"You there – what is this?" He points to the screen, his finger pressed against the glass.

"The TV show?" The man asks, puffing on a cigarette. Regulus does not like the look of the man – he is too thin and lean, like a criminal.

"Yes. What is it?"

"Why that is Sliders, I think." Regulus returns his attention to the pictures. They seem to have contracted a virus. The man continues, "An American show. It's about a boy who discovers a way to hop through different dimensions."

Regulus' head snaps to the man. "Different dimensions?"

"Yeah, you know – alternate universes."

"Oh," Regulus stares at the TV, transfixed, as it all begins to fall in place. "That sounds interesting."

Regulus is spread out on his bed, shuffling through books and papers. The more he reads and compares the more sense it all makes. All of this, from a Muggle show. He goes over it once more – the history of Neville Longbottom compared to the history of one mysterious, supposedly dead, Harry Potter. But could it be true? He would have to look into it more, to be sure, but he needed answers – something concrete – now.

He mutters to himself. "Trauma, yes. Indeed. A new personality and memories? It is possible, yet something is off. This is not – it's just like Neville….same scar….eerily similar events. Merlin how could everyone miss this?"

Regulus sits, his hand in his hair. He thumbs through the pages again, carefully reading the detailed notes. He paused on page five. Reread it. Then reread it again. He bites his lip. The Shadow was being held in room 238, according to Cygnus.

He had to know. Regulus shoves the file into his desk and throws his coat carelessly over his shoulders.

"Whelp. Here we go."

* * *

Regulus slinked through the shadows of St. Mungos Hospital. Someone was following him. Whoever it was, they were good. But Regulus was better. No one, in all his years as a Death Eater, had ever tailed him without his knowledge. Until this person. Regulus had not noticed his presence until he was on the third floor of the hospital, when a door had not closed properly.

* * *

James cursed silently. He would get himself stuck in this situation. He glared at his cloak, before quickly turning his attention to the figure he had been following. The person had paused, shoulders tense, listening. James slowly began to turn the handle of the door, pulling on his cloak with the other hand. He winced as the door groaned slightly. The person down the hall turned his head slightly at the noise. James paused, his heart in his throat. He only had to open the door a little further…there! James nearly sighed in relief as he pulled his cloak free. He slowly released the handle, hoping that the door would close silently. No such luck. It clicked shut. The noise echoed. James retreated quickly into a darkened corner. The person turned fully now, probably staring at the door. James could not tell. He held his breath as the person walked toward the door, his boots tapping ominously on the tile floor. He stopped a foot away, examining the door. James did not dare move as the stranger turned and walked quickly down the hall.

* * *

Regulus ignored the person following him and continued on his way down the empty hall. His eyes drifted from gold plated room number to gold plated room number. He needed room 238. The room that held the elusive and mysterious Harry Potter.

* * *

**A\N I hope you enjoyed this. reviews are awesome! in return I give you this:**  
Timeline:

January 28: Harry's trial is determined.

January 31: Death Eater Discussion and Diagon Alley Attack

February 2: Death Eater Meeting with Voldemort.

March 13th: Regulus and Barty watching the Weasley home

March 25th: Regulus discovers the word "Horcruxes" in Harry's files

*April 5th: Regulus at his father's house, the conversation with Rabastan in the kitchen. Regulus and James visit Harry. **The events of Chapter N.**

April 6th (current time): James' conversation with Sirius. **Events of Chapter O.**

**if you want to contact me or just see what i am up too - aim: running erinss , skype: e_doubleyou , twitter: e_doubleyou **


	17. Nargles

**Sorry for the long wait - I've been super busy with school then wouldn't let me upload for like 2 weeks. LAME. Chapter N is here! It's short but the longer and info packed Chapter O should be up soon.  
**

* * *

_Nargles_

* * *

"Dear god! I'm talking to myself! Out loud!"

"And you look bloody crazy too," Regulus said loudly as he let the door slam shut behind him. His voice echoed slightly, leaving him feeling more disoriented than he cared to admit.

Harry sneered, "That always makes a bloke feel good about himself." He scrunched his eyes together and pat the bedding around him. Regulus took several long strides across the room to the boy's bed. He shoved the boy's glasses roughly on to his face.

"You? How did you get in?" Harry asked in shock as he tried to straighten his glasses.

Regulus waived his hand dismissively. "So, I see they've seriously got you in a white padded room….where is the jacket?" he asked as he glanced around the barren room. He had only heard of this part of the Hospital before. Seeing it was rather strange. There was an eerie quality to the silent halls and the lights cast a sickening green glow.

"Straight jacket? That's a Muggle thing. How do you know something Muggle?" Harry demanded. His eyes narrowed dangerously and he leaned forward, like a predator ready to lunge at its prey. His bare toes curled over the edge of the mattress, ready to propel him, his fingers clutching the sheet.

He looked at Harry. Regulus had not known that was a Muggle saying, but he would not let The Shadow – Harry – know that. "You'd be surprised at what I know."

Harry snickered in response. The tension drained from his shoulders and neck and he slumped back slightly. Suddenly, he looked more like a fragile china doll than a lion. Harry sighed and looked wistfully at the door.

"Go away," Harry said, his voice, now melancholy, becoming muffled as he lay face down on his cot, "I don't want you here."

"I told you before," Regulus drawled, "I would contact you when it was safe." Regulus knew it was never safe – not in this current climate. The war in the UK was escalating, alliances were changing. There were riots happening internationally, treaties being made. Nowhere was safe. Regulus knew that even here was not safe. The boy was being watched closely by Death Eaters at all times. If 's had a better security system…but he pushed the thought out of his mind. They don't know he's here. They won't find out.

Harry did not move. Regulus did not think he was going to answer when he heard a faint voice, exasperated voice say, "I still hate you."

Regulus nearly smiled. "You owe me."

"I can't give you much, I'm locked up."

Regulus paused. There were so many things he needed to know. He took a deep breath. He could not jump into this headfirst without laying a foundation. He had to build a relationship with this boy, had to gain his trust, before he could get the answers he so desperately needed.

"All I want is for you to listen. You see, I've got this crazy theory, and I think – know – it explains your….situation. Ever since the first time I saw you, I knew something was not right. Potter. Potter. Oh, I called that one a long time ago while making hot cocoa."

Harry watched him from his prone position on the cot. He rolled his eyes. "Stop gloating, it's unbecoming. Just get to the point."

Regulus suddenly found his mouth dry and his throat tight. He licked his pale lips before uttering, "What do you know about parallel dimensions, Harry?"

Harry slowly sat up on his bed. Regulus watched Harry regard him with a perplexed expression dancing across his face, watched Harry's emotions battle out across his plain features.

"I don't – what?" Harry shook his head in confusion.

"What do you know about parallel dimensions?" Regulus spoke slowly.

"Not much…what are you getting at?" Harry's emotions turned from confused to suspicious.

"And they say you're brilliant," Regulus rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. He glanced down at the heavy gold watch on his wrist. "Let's just say, you're not crazy – At least I don't think you're as crazy as they say. My time is up Harry, I must leave-"

"What? No, tell me what you mean!" Harry jumped off the bed with surprising dexterity and cornered Regulus.

Regulus forced himself to stand still. They boy's wide-eyed stare scared him. He looked desperate. "Just a moment ago you were swearing you hate me, telling me to leave."

"And I still do hate you," Harry stated, poking Regulus savagely. Regulus stifled a grunt and rubbed his chest. "But you can't leave without explaining!"

"Yes I can. I'm 35 years old for Merlin's sake!"

"35? Really? You look a lot younger than that-"

Regulus rolled his eyes, "Listen, kid, I'm not exactly here in any legal way, all right? Now, I have to go before I am caught," He pushed Harry away and shrugged out of the boy's grasp. He turned his back on Harry, trying to ignore the intense stare. "You think on what I said. I'll be back."

Harry chuckled. "Now say that with an Austrian accent."

Regulus paused, unsure of what exactly was happening, "Excuse me?"

"I'll be back. Say it with an Austrian accent…like the Terminator…"

"What?" Regulus turned slightly, to look at Harry.

"I – never mind." Harry waived his hand absently, suddenly defeated, "Muggle thing."

He nodded slowly, "Right. Muggle thing." Regulus paused, his hand on the door knob. He glanced over his shoulder at the malnourished boy. He could see the resemblance to Potter, most certainly with his mess of black hair and thin-rimmed glasses, but no pureblood would be so in tune with "muggle" things as he was. Was the boy the Dark Lord feared so a Mudblood? Regulus slipped out of the room, the question remained unspoken.

* * *

The heavy door slammed shut behind him. He cringed at the sound and looked around to make sure it had not been heard by any staff members.

This hall was creepy. Silent. No movement. It was abandoned, seemingly forgotten to the rest of the Hospital. Just like the wizards and witches kept in these rooms, he thought. All of them, too hard to be dealt with, so they were just shoved away and forgotten, abandoned by family in friends. The thought unsettles him and gives him chills. He adjusts the snap on his cloak, trying to ease his sudden agitation. He doesn't want to make any mistakes on the way out. He doesn't want to get caught.

He can feel eyes on him, burning through him. He's three steps from the room when it happens. A cloaked figure emerges from the shadows. Regulus stops and stares at the approaching figure. He makes to draw his wand when the other's is suddenly in his face.

"I will not hesitate to hex you if you attempt to move," the figure said as he pushed back his hood.

"Potter. Fancy seeing you here. Are you having a check-up?"

James frowned slightly but ignored the jab. "I saw you in there – talking to him. I watched you. What were you talking about?"

Well fuck. "Stuff," Regulus shrugged. His heart was pounding.

"Tell me and I won't arrest you right now."

Regulus pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Arrest me for what? I've done nothing wrong. I'm just...out for a leisurely stroll. "

"Oh, Regulus, dearest little Black, we've been after you for a long time. I can tell them anything I want – that you were attempting to break The Shadow out, and employed the use of unforgivable curses against me, nearly killing me. I can make it up if I have to. They'll believe me over you; hell I'll get a hero's reward for finally getting you behind bars."

"James Potter playing crooked Auror? I never would have guessed. I thought you Gryffindors were morally superior."

James pressed his wand to the tip of Regulus' nose. "Tell me why you were in there, and I will let this little incident slide."

Regulus stared at James with emotionless grey eyes. "I needed to speak with him," he said simply.

"Why?"

"Business. The kind which you are not privy too."

"Death Eater stuff, then," James said quietly.

Regulus shrugged. "Why don't you go ask him yourself?"

James stepped forward and stood face to face with Regulus. Regulus could see the faint freckles dashed across Potter's nose and feel the other man's hot breath. James spoke softly, his voice filled with a hard edge that Regulus knew to take seriously, "If I find out this little meeting of yours had any nefarious purposes you will regret it."

"It didn't."

James watched Regulus, dark shadows beneath his eyes and pale hands held up to his shoulders, carefully for a moment. He licked his lips and dropped his wand. "I will find out," he stated as he walked past Regulus.

Regulus listened to Potter's footsteps, relaxing only when he heard the click of the door to room 238.

* * *

**Tada!**


	18. Omen

**A/N: 1st Half of Chapter O! I'm done with this much so far, but have the second half planned, but I wanted to put something up since it has been so long and Chapter N was short. I will be going back through my chapters and making sure everything lines up & adding in/changing some things (nothing super significant, maybe adding a few more things about certain subplots) since it has been awhile. **

* * *

_Omen_

* * *

James allowed the door to swing shut. He looked around. What an strange room. He gently ran his hand over the white stone – it was soft and cushiony. A charm, most likely. He frowned at the single flickering fluorescent light.

"Another visitor?" James eyes snapped to the creaking cot, where the amused voice of Harry Potter had addressed him. "That's two in one night. How…odd."

James cleared his throat uncomfortably. The boy's starring unnerved him. "Umm…"

"Let's start with the basics. Who are you?" his green eyes narrowed in confusion. James couldn't take his eyes off of him. He was thinner than before, his skin tight across his bones, and had a sickly look about him.

James realized, with a start, that this was the first time he had ever interacted with the boy. He had only watched him from afar. Harry was still staring at him and James realized he still hadn't answered the boy's question. "I'm James Potter." He licked his lips, nervous.

Harry frowned. "No shit?" He did not remove his eyes from James as he lapsed into thought.

James was regretting doing this. The way the boy was staring at him was unnerving. It struck James that Harry thought, believed, he was his father. If that was true, then why was this interaction with Harry so…reserved? Shouldn't Harry be much more comfortable with someone he believed was his father?

James stood awkwardly as he watched Harry, The Shadow, muse quietly to himself. He scratched his neck. Might as well get it over with, he thought.

"Um, so," James stuttered, suddenly at a loss for words. This was harder than he had thought it would be. It was odd, this boy was a murderer, possible Death Eater, but he looked so…young and helpless. There he was, sitting cross legged on his bed in stripped pajamas, glasses crooked on his nose and his hair sticking up at odd angles. It was like he was looking at a clone.

"Yes?" Harry asked, brought out of his reverie. His eyes, just like Lily's, were cloudy with thought.

"Who was in here, before? I saw him leaving…" James knew, of course. It had been Regulus Black. But James also knew that the boy's answer to his question would reveal a lot. The rumors said Harry was working with the Death Eaters, the rumors said he was high ranking, the rumors said he was dangerous. James didn't believe them.

Harry scowled, "No one of importance. I wish he would leave me alone."

"Oh," James took a hesitant step closer, then another, until he was standing next to the bed, "Why's that?"

Harry looked amused. "He's crazy." James snorted at the irony.

"Why? What's he saying?"

Harry shrugged, suddenly withdrawn from the conversation. "You wouldn't believe me."

It was James turn to look amused, "Oh I doubt that. Try me." He was a marauder after all, he'd heard a lot of unbelievable things.

"He didn't say much," Harry looked unsure of himself. He glanced at James, who had sat on the edge of the cot. There was something about him, in his eyes, which James could not identify. Harry squirmed under James' stare. He only continued speaking when James dropped his eyes to the floor. "He was just asking about alternate universes, if I knew anything of them."

James eyes snapped back to Harry's face. "Alternate universes? What about them?" he asked sharply, his eyes drifting up to the scar on Harry's forehead.

Harry flattened his bangs, blocking the lightning bolt scar from James's view. "Dunno. It's awfully late though, I would like to get some sleep sometime tonight," he said flatly.

James nodded slowly. "Of course, Harry," he smiled and exited the room. He closed the door softly behind him and leaned against it. "Well fuck." He muttered darkly.

* * *

There he was, in the pouring rain, knocking at Sirius' door. When there was no answer, he huffed and picked up the potted plant he knew a spare key was hidden under. He was fiddling with the key, having tried to stick it in the lock upside-down, when the door was flung open by a bleary-eyed Sirius.

"James? What are you- come in!" Sirius moved aside to let James enter.

"About time! I was knocking forever, bout used your spare key," James said as he threw his cloak onto the couch. It slid off and plopped onto the floor. Sirius stared mutely at it, his mouth pinched. "I've got news, you aren't going to believe it!"

Sirius' eyes snapped to James, "What happened? Its," he checked his watch, "three in the morning." Sirius shuffled to the kitchen. James winced at the sound of Sirius' slippers scuffing against the hardwood floor. The man never picked his feet up when he walked.

"I know, but…" James didn't know what to say. How do you start this conversation with someone? He followed his friend.

He sat wearily in a chair as Sirius busied himself making tea. "There was this whole thing, and then alternate dimensions, and I got my cloak stuck in a door – almost died. Right then and there."

"What are you on about?"

"I followed this guy in London, from The Leaky Cauldron to St. Mungos. It was an accident really. My Auror instincts kicked in."

"Naturally," Sirius nodded.

James hesitated, "The Shadow – Harry – he's just a crazy kid right? I mean, he's not a Death Eater, or dangerous right? No time-travel or alternate universe thing going on right?"

Sirius frowned slightly, "I don't know. There's something odd going on, though. Nothing about that kid anywhere – Fred and George can't dig up anything on him either."

"Why do you think Neville thinks he's a good guy? With what he said about the Minister….You don't believe it, do you Sirius?"

James jumped as Sirius slammed a tea cup in front of him. "Believe what, James?" he asked waspishly.

"Have you even listened to a word I said?" James huffed. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He hadn't done anything to annoy Sirius.

"Don't get huffy with me!" Sirius was flinging the kettle around now. James thought the boiling water was going to come flying out, burning him and leaving ugly scars. Or else, Sirius was going to accidently whack him in the face with it. Sirius pointed at him with the kettle, "You're the one traipsing around St. Mungos at odd hours, probably all dark and brooding in the shadows, then you come knock on my door, and fling your stuff all over my home!"

Sirius glowered at his wet cloak, which was currently causing a puddle to form on the floor. James made a mental note to clean it up before he left.

"I was not _traipsing_ around." He rolled his eyes. "I happened upon a suspicious character, and I followed him. That's all."

"And following that suspicious character made you suffer a monumental hysterical breakdown?"

James didn't like Sirius tone. He narrowed his eyes. "No. I…." James said. He stared at his tea, watching the sugar clumps dissolve. He hadn't put enough in.

"You what," Sirius asked over the edge of his own cup.

"I may have broken into Harry Potter's cell and spoken with him."

Sirius choked on his tea and nearly overturned his teacup. "You what?" he asked in disbelief.

"In my defense, I only did it to investigate what said suspicious character had been doing in there." James knew that wasn't a very good defense, and he knew Sirius knew it too.

Sirius said nothing for a while, seemingly groping for words. That was a first. "What… Who is this suspicious character?"

James sighed. Did he tell Sirius it had been his brother? He shifted slightly in his seat, the guilt of his actions already weighing down on him. He'd have to lie – he couldn't let Sirius know it had been Regulus. "I don't know. That's why he's a suspicious character. He had this cool cloak with a hood that obscured his face. I want one, for my birthday." It had been a very cool cloak that Regulus was wearing. There was no doubt about that.

"What happened? You have to tell me the whole story now!" Sirius was leaning across the table, his eyes wide.

"Not much. He was standing there and I asked him "What are you doing?" and he was all "Nothing, just out for a leisurely stroll." So I told him I saw him talking to Potter, that it was illegal, and he goes "So?"" James sipped his tea, contemplated it, and then added more sugar to his cup. He _hadn't_ added enough.

"Did you ask what he was doing with Potter?"

"Of course," James replied indignantly, "and you know what he said? He said "Stuff". So I, uh" James itched his nose, "I went in there and Harry looked up at me and asked who I was, so I told him. James Potter. And the kid looked at me and went "No shit?" It was surreal. This whole situation is…weird."

Sirius nodded in agreement. "So, did he tell you what they talked about?"

"Yes. He said it wasn't much, the person just asked if he knew anything about alternate universes – parallel dimensions."

"Why would…that doesn't make any sense." Sirius trail off in thought.

"I know. Then I noticed the most peculiar thing." James paused, unsure if he should continue. Sirius beckoned him on. "He has the same exact scar as Neville."

Sirius sat wide-eyed. "You don't think…."

James shrugged. "I really don't know, Sirius."

Sirius bit his lip and stared into his cup. "I'll call Remus," he said finally, vacating his seat. He glared at James' cloak once more as he passed it on his way to the fireplace.

James was grateful Sirius decided to call their bookish friend. Remus would know what to do.

* * *

"What is it?" Remus said tiredly, looking at his watch, "It's 4 am, what on earth could be so important you couldn't wait another four hours to wake me?"

"It's Harry," James said quickly. "I noticed something rather odd. I don't know what it could mean…"

"Harry?" Remus pulled up a chair and sat heavily in it, "As in…The Shadow, the boy-who-claims-to-be-Harry-Potter?"

James nodded mutely while Sirius said rather loudly "James broke into The Shadow's cell at Mungo's."

"James, you didn't!" Remus looked appalled at the very thought. "Why on earth would you even – this is absurd – how – why -"

"Prongsie followed someone there, someone who was speaking with The Shadow. Its all rather suspicious isn't it? I mean, whoever it was…they must know something, don't you think Remus?"

"It's my duty as an Auror to investigate suspicious activity, especially when it involves supposed threats to the Wizarding World," James said weakly.

Remus shook his head in disbelief. "James…I don't even know what to say."

"Look – Sirius and I both noticed something strange with the boy during his interrogations, then the way he behaved at the trial, what Neville has been saying…Something strange is happening and it'd be stupid of me not to look further into it. I thought you'd support me, Remus, getting to the bottom of things, finding out the truth…"

"It isn't as simple as that James. What you did was foolish!" Remus snapped, "You have to be more careful – what if he really is as dangerous as they claim? What if he really is Voldemort's successor? You don't know! You have to treat him like he's – he's -"

"Dangerous? Like how people treat _you_?" Sirius let out a little cough and sunk lower into the couch. Remus stared open mouthed at his ruffled friend. "I thought maybe you'd understand. Clearly, you don't."

"James," Remus let out a sigh and continued slowly, "It's not that. You're right. You are. But, there are all these 'what ifs'. In times like these, we have to be careful. We don't know anything about him, _anything_. Hell, he could tell whoever he's working with that you were there tonight. Then what? You're a person of interest."

James sat tight-lipped, arms crossed over his chest.

"He's right, Prongs," Sirius said quietly, "You could be in a lot of trouble now…And for what? Some weird shoe-string theory that Lovegood has probably printed?"

"That's it though – I spoke with him, The Shadow. You weren't there. You didn't see. I don't think…"

"Then explain, James."

"I think…I think he may really be Harry Potter, just…" James groped for words but came up with nothing.

Sirius interjected, "Just not our Harry Potter."

"Right. He's not our Harry Potter, but he is Harry Potter."

Remus shook his head, "You're not telling me…like a Harry from an alternate dimension?" James and Sirius shared a look and shrugged. "That's….that's absurd. That is not possible…"

"I'll admit, it crossed my mind a long while ago, but it sounded too crazy," Sirius said, "Everything he was saying at that interrogation, his demeanor, hell, he looks exactly like James."

James leaned forward, "Exactly. And He had a scar, exactly like Neville's, a lightning shaped scar. He says his parents were killed by Voldemort, he claims to be a Hogwarts student, he knows of the prophecy…what if…what if in his world, he's the Boy-Who-Lived?"

The room was silent. Remus stared intently at a mahogany desk on the far side of the room, his eyes wide. Finally, after several long tense moments he spoke. "It…it makes sense, but….How come no one has noticed this before? The scar, I mean."

Sirius gazed expectantly at James. "His fringe. He keeps it covered. I don't think he likes people looking at it. I just happened to see it; he covered it up right quick though."

"We have to find out who that other person he spoke to was," Sirius said suddenly, "Whoever it was believes this theory to be true as well. They must, if they broke in to speak with The Shadow about it."

James moved uncomfortably in his seat. "Er yeah, right. Or they were just a nut who happened to take a lucky guess."

"How do you think he got here," Remus asked, watching James suspiciously, "from his world, then?"

Sirius frowned and James stared at his hands.

"I think we need to call a New Order meeting. This is just too important…"

* * *

"So, James," Remus said quietly as he took the kettle off the stove, "The person you ran into at St. Mungos…who was it?"

James stopped short and looked at his old friend with wide-eyes. He looked out into the living room, where the New Order was gathered and talking in hushed tones. James moved closer to Remus, with the pretense of helping make tea, eyes glued to the counter, and spoke in a whisper, "It was Regulus."

Remus didn't speak for a long time. When he finally did his voice was tight. "James, we have to tell them."

"We can't."

"We have to!" Remus took a deep breath and pressed the bridge of his nose. "He's a Death Eater – this is too suspicious. What if they're planning something? What if they're going to send him to another universe to, I don't know, take over, or…or."

"What if, what if, what if," James replied grumpily, slamming a tea cup onto the counter a bit too roughly. Lily gave him a concerned look from the living room. He smiled in return. "We can't tell, not now – Sirius will have a fit if he knows I saw his brother."

"James-"

"They won't even give the boy a chance if they found out he was speaking with Regulus either," James continued, whispering over Remus's objections, "It'll send them right back to Dumbledore."

"You know that isn't true – none of us agree with Dumbledore's actions," Remus stated while putting sugar into the cups, "But you can't deny that this information changes the way we need to look at things."

James sighed and ran his hand through his hair, an old habit. "I know. But just…just not now, ok Remus? Trust me."

Remus felt his own resolve collapse and nodded in agreement. "Fine. But we have to tell soon," he said over his shoulder as he carried the tray of scones out to the group. James followed his friend with the tea.

* * *

**Obviously the rest will pick up with a New Order meeting! Lots of stuff going on, gonna see some people we haven't in awhile, plus lots of Neville and more Death Eaters :)**

**Oh, and to everyone saying "Just have them give Harry Veritaserum and there would be none of these problems!" LOL, do you see a problem there? That's not how I want my story to go, that isn't what it's about. It would get rid of plot points I want to be in my story. So, in short, deal with it.  
**


	19. Omen Part 2

_Omen Part 2_

* * *

Lily spun around to see her husband entering the room behind Remus, carrying the long awaited tea. It was still early in the morning, the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. "There you two are! We've been waiting for you to begin." She smiled brightly despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Sorry Lils," James smiled sheepishly. "Now who want's tea?" He began to sloppily fill the teacups that were now floating in the air – much to Sirius's chagrin.

"All over my rug-" Sirius was saying when Lily decided to get things rolling.

"So, why was this meeting called?" The room became silent. Everyone stared intently at James, awaiting an answer.

"Well," James tittered nervously with the teapot. "Well, you see. I came across some important, possibly life changing information – well uh, not information so much as –uh, well it's complicated."

"What is it?" Sirius prompted lazily. He already knew of course. Tonks was nodding vigorously next to her cousin. Lily thought she was much more lively now that her and Remus had gotten back together.

"What it is is – it is. Merlin how do I say this?"

Lily cringed at the sight of James. He was usually so well spoken and confident. Now he seemed to be trying to shrink back into the hideously wallpapered walls. She'd never known him to not be blunt. Suddenly her stomach flip flopped with nerves. How serious could it be that even James was acting to distraught?

"You say it like this," Sirius said loudly as he stood, "James spoke with The Shadow, also known as Harry Potter, earlier this morning and believes that the boy is from an alternate dimension."

Gasps and murmurs began and Sirius sat down looking rather pleased with himself.

"I can't believe you-"

"-All the stupid and irresponsible-"

"How did you even-"

"I err- everyone calm down – I also believe that 'Harry' knows some uh vital information about Voldemort's followers that could be of use to us."

Sirius choked on his tea. "You didn't tell me that earlier!" he cried out. Remus, Lily noticed, looked rather grim.

"What type of information?" she asked. Marlene stated she also wanted to know this.

"Names, locations," James motioned vaguely in the air with his hand. "He doesn't seem to want much to do with them. I think…I think we can trust him."

"I think you've gone bloody mad," Dorcas stated rather sharply. "An alternate dimension, Potter?"

"No, I agree with James," Remus chimed in, "everything seems to make sense. It's…extraordinary, but it's truly the only explanation that makes sense."

"How?"

James took a deep breath and grabbed Lily's hand. "All of the little things, really. He claims to be Harry Potter, his reaction to Dumbledore's rebuking, his answers to the interrogation Sirius and I saw, the things Gideon and Fabian – rest their souls – said about him, the way he looks, and…his scar. He has a lightning bolt shaped scar, just like Neville. "

"It's true," Lily said, turning the recent events over in her mind. "The twins said Harry could fly, like he had been a Quidditch player, that he had been wearing Gryffindor color socks, that he knew of the prophecy. How else-"

"Voldemort, maybe," Tonks said slowly, her hair fading from the bubble gum pink to mousy brown. "But does he know the whole prophecy? I thought you and the Longbottoms were the only ones who knew. Well, besides Dumbledore. And we all know how that turned out."

Lily shrugged. "He doesn't seem the type to team up with Voldemort." She knew he wasn't. Her gut told her so.

James cut in quickly before Tonks could respond. "When I spoke with him, he said he had a previous visitor who suggested the theory to him. He didn't seem to believe it, yet."

"And we don't know who the visitor is, yet, either," Sirius stated. Remus shifted uneasily beside him. "Right?" Sirius asked, shooting James a questioning look.

"Er. Right. Well, maybe. I have reason to believe this person was a known Death Eater," James tugged at his shirt, "Which is why I believe the boy knows something about the group – who they are, where there base camp is – something."

"What makes you think he isn't making plans to escape and join them?" Arthur Weasley asked. He had been quiet until now.

"I just didn't get that feeling."

"Is it possible, James, that you're letting your emotions cloud your judgment?" Arthur asked softly, "Even if he truly is Harry Potter, he is not your son-"

"We know," Lily snapped harshly. She huffed. "Our son died years ago. We've mourned him. But this boy is just that – a boy. Like Neville."

The group sat in a still silence for a few moments.

"What if the Death Eater was a defector?" Sirius asked brightly. Remus smiled shallowly at his friend's cheerful disposition. If only he knew.

"Maybe – more likely he was trying to recruit the boy though," Tonks answered, frowning.

James stared at his shoes. "So when do we tell Neville?"

* * *

Regulus hadn't wanted to go back to his flat right away. Not with everything on his mind. He needed time to think in silence, to wander. The fresh air helped him collect his thoughts and calm his racing heart. He was committing treason. If anyone ever found out, he'd be dead. So he sat in the little park until the sun began to rise, meditating and practicing his occulmency. He had to. For him, now, keeping his thoughts safe was a matter of life and death. Severus had been one of the best occulmens he had ever known, and he had still been found out. He took another deep breath and willed the horrid thoughts out of his mind. His heart had started pounding again.

He opened his eyes when the warmth of the sun finally touched his face. He watched two mothers running side by side pushing strollers. Regulus still felt tense and tightly wound. He had a lot to do today, and little sleep to do it on.

With a harsh sigh he rose from his bench and stretched his aching body. He was getting old. Perhaps Quidditch had been too rough on his joints.

He slowly meandered down the sidewalk and back into the city. His cloak gently thwapped around his ankles has he walked. He wasn't far from his home, a fifteen minute walk at most. Maybe if he hurried he'd have time to sneak in a nap before the afternoon meeting.

He couldn't focus on anything except the newest addition to the Potter family. How he hadn't made the connection before – or at least not believed the boy's own declaration of Potter blood – he didn't know. It was so obvious looking back on it.

Regulus didn't notice the dog until it let out a low bark. He, ripped from his thoughts, nearly jumped out of his skin.

There standing in front of him was a shaggy long limbed dog with gnarly white teeth. Regulus felt the color drain from his face. It looked like the Grim. Was this a sign? He looked skyward, as if asking some higher power what he should do. The only answer he received was the intense growling of the Grim. A sign indeed.

Regulus stared hard at the creature. Surely it wasn't truly a Grim, right? They only showed up in teacups and the like. No, it couldn't be. He wasn't sure why it had him so bothered – he never put much thought into Divination before that moment. No, this was just a dog.

"Scram, fleabag!" he yelled at it, trying to shoo it out of his path. He quickly withdrew his hand when the dog snapped at him.

"Oi, don't make me call animal control you nasty little mutt." At this the dog whined slightly. "That's it then? Animal control. I have their – I can owl them right from here! Not so tough are you now, Grim."

Suddenly the dog lunged at him, teeth barred in silent attack. Regulus twisted out of the way, just in time. The dog caught only the edge of his cloak, tearing a large piece off.

"You filthy -" The dog prepared to lunge again, "All right," Regulus conceded, hands held high above his head, "I'm leaving, I'm going to the other sidewalk. This is your territory." Regulus kept speaking as he slowly crossed the street. "Go on, take care of those puppies you're protecting. Good girl."

Once on the other side of the road Regulus clucked at the sizeable hole in his overcoat. He looked back at the dog, which was still standing at full attention, the piece of his cloak still firmly in mouth.

"I hate dogs," he muttered before hurrying down the street and back to his flat, which was a measly three blocks away.

* * *

"What was the problem?" James asked casually from his position on the couch. He was drinking his fourth cup of coffee and looking over blueprints the younger Weasley twins had acquired.

"Uh, nothing. Just some Muggle who got a bit too close to the wards." Like he would ever tell them his little brother had been wondering the streets looking like a maniac.

Lily laughed lightly. Sirius always loved her laugh, it was like the little tinkering of a bell. Music to his ears. "Well hopefully Snuffles didn't scare them too much."

"Eh. He threatened to call animal control, but no harm done," Sirius tried to say casually. Lily gave him an odd look but shrugged and returned her attention to her husband.

His heart had been in his throat when he laid eyes on his brother. In his mind Regulus was still the little twelve year old boy sitting on the steps at Grimmauld Place, watching somberly as their mother threw Sirius's belonging into the foyer.

He had seen him infrequently at Hogwarts, only during Quidditch matches. And even then he had hardly paid attention to him. He had still been scrawny and pale. Which, he was certainly still both now. But his face now had the elegant, haughty look the Black's were known for, instead of the sickly one he had been sporting through most of puberty. They looked very similar. Regulus was more slender, a few inches shorter, his shoulders not as broad as Sirius's own, and his fingers were less calloused. Sirius's eyes were more blue than his brother's, whose light eyes were underscored by the purple-black circles under them. Regulus had always gotten those when he was tired or sick. Sirius's wondered which it was this time. Regulus's face still held on to that baby fat, though, making him look years younger than he actually was. And his hair – all Sirius's life Regulus's hair had been cropped short. But now it was a wild mass of loose waves sitting atop his head and covering the tips of his ears. It wasn't as long as his own, but it was long enough to make his mother mad. That he knew for certain.

"Earth to Sirius," someone was saying suddenly. Sirius jumped at the hand waving in front of his face. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Padfoot. Mind telling us what was so interesting in that brain of yours? Actually, on second thought, don't."

"Sorry Moony, I was thinking."

Remus looked at his friend suspiciously. "Right. Well, now that most people have left, James has something he needs to tell you." He smiled innocently.

"I do?" James squawked indignantly. Lily looked at him sharply, her green eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"You do?" Sirius asked dully. He didn't know if he could take any more shocks to his system – and he felt like this was going to be a big one.

At Remus's look James nodded reluctantly. "I do."

* * *

Regulus was sitting at his desk staring hard at the tiny communication mirror. Back in the day he had seen his brother and Potter covertly using them to speak with each other. It hadn't taken him long to figure out how to enchant his own mirrors for this purpose. They used them freely, the Death Eaters. It was an easy way to contact each other. But now Regulus was afraid it was too easy to tap – to be watched by someone else. Had the government already bugged their mirrors? Did any of these top wizards even think of something like that? No, they probably wouldn't. Wizards just didn't think of things like that.

He glanced back over the medical files of one Harry James Potter. The boy was too dangerous to leave sitting unguarded. Not because of his skill, but because of his legend. Because both sides desperately wanted him. The boy was an ordinary wizard, with no extraordinary talent to speak of – other than luck and some really devoted friends. No, Regulus knew what he had to do. It was the only way to truly bypass all of the nonsense and get done what needed to be done. And this was the first step of his hatchling plan.

He swallowed the ill feelings and picked up his mirror. "Evan Rosier," he said to it. He waited patiently for the recipient to answer.

Soon Rosier's pleasant face was staring back at him. "Wotcher Black. To what pleasure do I owe this early morning call?"

Regulus cringed – it was 7 am, too early for any members of the old families to be out of bed. "Sorry, I didn't realize the time. I just needed to speak with you, privately, in a secure location."

"Well, you've got me on the mirror, isn't that good enough for you?"

"No – it could be tapped."

Rosier's face said it all. "A bit paranoid aren't we, Regulus?" He asked with a hard edge to his voice. Immediately the sick feelings sprouted up again. Maybe Rosier wasn't the one to go to.

"This is important!" Regulus snapped. "Meet me at that muggle coffee shop you like so much – the uh, The Trojan?"

"Fine, fine. I'll see you there in an hour. I have some work to finish up."

"Bring your notes from the trial." Regulus needn't specify which one. He knew Rosier knew he meant the trial of the Shadow. It was the major trial of the modern wizarding world, after all.

* * *

Sirius's heart was pounding in his ears. He felt sick. Had he known this…had he known this he would have stopped his brother on the street and dragged him inside.

"Say that again mate?"

Across from him Lily sat similarly flabbergasted.

James took a long drawn out breath. "Regulus was the person I followed into St. Mungos. He was the one to talk to Harry, to mention the alternate dimension."

"You're joking."

"'Fraid not. He didn't want to tell you," Remus said heavily, "but I thought it would be best he did. "

"Why didn't you tell me this early," Sirius asked. It felt like his mouth was made of sandpaper. His tongue was heavy and dry, sticking to the roof of his mouth. Even his throat was suddenly parched, making swallowing feel like a monumental task.

"I didn't want to upset you," James admitted. He looked at his friend with pleading hazel eyes. "You have to understand-"

"I do," Sirius interrupted, "But had I known I could have-" he cradled his head in his hands. He felt Remus's hand on his back.

"There isn't anything you could have done," Lily said softly from across the room. She sounded miles away.

He stood quickly. "No – you don't understand. He was outside, earlier. He was the one who triggered the wards. I thought – oh god. I could have done something."

James was standing now too. "Which way did he go?"

"Down south," Sirius muttered. It was too late to catch him now. He'd leave no trail. They hadn't a clue where he'd be heading to. "For as dumb as he is, he's far too smart sometimes. He must have told Voldemort. If he knows this, what else could he know? I – I need time alone. I have to think."

* * *

Neville groggily chewed his cereal, eyes barely open and clouded by sleep. "I hate Mondays," he moaned to no one in particular. He especially hated this particular Monday. He had been kept up all night by the dull throbbing pain in his scar. Something big was going on, and he didn't know what. And Neville didn't particularly like not being in the know, as the Minister of Magic had found out not too long ago.

"Morning Nev," a bright eyed Hermione said as she plopped down on the bench next to him. Ginny, a similar look on her face, slid in across from them.

"I brought this," Ginny yawned and pushed a newspaper across the table. She scratched her messy red hair and watched him carefully.

Neville blinked owlishly. "How'd you get that? I thought first print wasn't until 8."

Ginny grinned. Neville thought she looked like a feral cat. "I have my ways."

Neville shrugged. "Far be it from me to question them. Anything good?"

Hermione stopped mid toast-buttering a let out a long suffering sigh. "'More of the same really. Did you know that there was an Order meeting last night?"

"No," shock was etched onto his plain features, "Why wasn't I invited? I knew something was going on, my scar was bothering me all night." Subconsciously his hand moved to trace the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

Hermione's face scrunched up. "Your scar again? It's been getting worse. Well, anyway, we were walking here and happened to, uh, overhear Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall talking about it. We followed them and found out some interesting things."

"But," Ginny interrupted, rolling her eyes, "this meeting wasn't run by Dumbledore." She looked around conspiratorially before leaning in and lowering her voice. "What we heard suggests that some of the Order members have gone…rogue."

"Rogue? As in?" Neville felt like his brain was still too sleepy to properly keep up with this conversation.

"As in have defected from the Order and started their own group," Hermione said easily.

"I knew over the holiday break that something was happening. I think my mum and dad are a part of the new group. I guess the Potters are leading it."

Neville nodded slowly, "That would make sense. Last time I was actually invited to attend a meeting they called the Potters in. Dumbledore said that they 'regretfully did not believe they could fight this war', something about- well… With the Order divided we don't stand the foggiest chance in…" Neville trailed off grimly.

"We heard Dumbledore mention The Shadow. All attempted contact with him has been interrupted. He thinks the Death Eaters are picking through his mail or something."

"He wants to meet with The Shadow."

"Really," Neville said flatly. Ginny shrugged. "What would bring about that change in thought, do you think?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know, Nev, but I don't like it. And I was thinking, well – since no one will let us know what is happening we should find out for ourselves."

Neville set his spoon down on the table. "You're not suggesting-"

"She is," Ginny smirked. "We need to go talk to The Shadow."

"And how exactly do we suggest we do that? He isn't allowed any visitors. And his security must be out of control."

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a significant look.

"We lie," Ginny said with a shrug.

"About?"

Hermione had that look on her face that suggested a long-winded speech was about to flow from her mouth. "We'll Floo from Hogsmeade and tell them we're going to visit your parents. They won't question you. Once we get in – well we've done some research, and you know the layout of that level well enough. Combine the two and a disillusionment charm – you get the picture."

Neville's eyes narrowed. He looked askew at Hermione. "Really?"

Hermione looked affronted at his accusatory tone. "I read a lot. And break rules. You can do both, you know," she said snottily. With her noise pointed in the air she bit into her toast.

"I always knew you secretly loved breaking all the rules."

Hermione allowed a small smile to flit briefly across her face. "You and Ginny have met him already-"

"But what if he's really with Voldemort? Couldn't that be dangerous for you?"

"I don't think he'll give us much trouble," Ginny said sharply, "You said he acted like he knew you in Diagon Alley, and well, at The Burrow he acted like he knew me too. Maybe he'll be the same with Hermione."

"Maybe," Neville shrugged noncommittally. He still had his doubts. He didn't trust this man.

"We've already spoke to Ron about it,"

"You spoke to Ron about it?" Neville asked, taken by surprise.

"Yes," Hermione sounded annoyed, "And he thinks it's a good idea. He said he and Seamus can create a distraction if anyone notices we're gone."

"I still don't know."

"Come on Nev, stop being so wishy-washy. You know how Ron is and even he thinks it's a good idea. I'm sick and tired of all the rumors going around and I'm sure you are too. We just want to get to the bottom of this, and the only way to do that is by going to the source."

"All right," Neville conceded, "You've swayed me."

* * *

A/N: Getting things moving. Everything's about to come together. Drop me a line!


	20. Paradise

**I do not own HP**

* * *

_ Paradise_

* * *

With all this spare time Harry had nothing to do but sit and think. In fact, all the sitting and thinking and deep introspection was making him start to actually go crazy. He'd thought about everything – Voldemort, his friends back home, Regulus's alternate dimension theory. The more he thought about it, the more it actually made sense. And that scared him a lot. Things were so different here that it was the only plausible explanation. The way Dumbledore had treated him, the way the Death Eaters had treated him, the familiar faces of the dead suddenly walking about. All of it could be explained by this one crazy little theory.

Who was the Boy-Who-Lived here? Was Sirius alive? Was there some alternate version of him running around? He wished he had paid more attention to the world around him – he could have figured this situation out a lot sooner. Hermione could have figured it out in a minute. Although he didn't think even he'd had been able to come up with the dimension travel theory. It was so….impossible and crazy. So much so that he couldn't even think of the words to describe the feelings that were bubbling up in him.

It set him on edge. The tension filled his muscles the same way his stomach turned itself in knots. His mind was racing a mile a minute, his body ready to pounce, but all he wanted to do was sleep it all away. So he stayed tucked under the thin blanket, staring at the ceiling.

He laughed. Impossible and crazy. For him he supposed it really wasn't – he'd survived a killing curse, fought a basilisk, survived the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and was currently hunting horcruxes. Or rather, he had been since his departure from his Original Earth. None of those were exactly ordinary occurrences in the wizarding world. His life had never been ordinary.

Alternate dimension or not, some things had to be the same. And he was willing to bet, going by the pain in his scar that the horcruxes existed here too.

He thought back to his earlier days in the orphanage where Tom Riddle had once lived. Where he sat for hours trying to come up with items that could be horcruxes. The diary, locket, ring, Nagini. How many were there? How would he know if he got them all? They may not even be the same in this world. He didn't know. He needed more information about Voldemort. Perhaps he'd ask Regulus if he ever came to visit again. Harry frowned at the thought. When did enemy become friend and friend become foe?

The blurred lines of who's who confused his thoughts. There were so many things he didn't know, didn't understand.

But there was one thing he was sure still rang true. He was a horcrux. And it was in that moment Harry realized what he had to do. In order to truly defeat Voldemort, he needed to be destroyed.

* * *

"This. Is. Insane." Ginny said quietly as she followed Neville into the ward. Her eyes were nearly as large as saucers, roaming over the empty hall attempting to take everything in. "It's all so white."

"Echoes loudly too. Good thing Ron isn't here, he's far too loud – we'd be caught immediately," Hermione added. Ginny nodded her head in solemn agreement.

Neville smiled at her over his shoulder. "That was a lot easier than expected," he said mildly. He looked at the file in his hand. Hermione had nicked it from a nurse's cart. He liked the rule-breaking Hermione more and more every day. "He's in room 238."

"It must be down at that end," Hermione said after looking at the nearest numbered plaque.

The closer they got to room 238 the slower they all seemed to walk. Neville was looking a bit green. He pulled his sweater sleeves down over his thumbs, in a vain attempt to feel more at ease. His grandmother had always yelled at him for that - for stretching such good sweaters out of shape. But at this moment in time he did not care. He was about to face the unknown. He deserved a little bit of comfort, right? He did, he reassured himself, tugging once again on his sleeves.

"I'm nervous," Ginny whispered. Her voice traveled loudly through the barren hall, echoing off the hard walls and floor. She twirled a fine strand of her bright red hair in her hand -a nervous habit she'd picked up after her first year at Hogwarts. Neville frowned at the memory of her splayed on the floor of the chamber, skin deathly pale and hair like a pool of freshly spilled blood. It'd haunt him for the rest of his life - like he's sure those events haunted her. He could see it lurking in her eyes, the fear. Of the dark, of being alone. He understood. There were bad things hiding in the dark.

"Me too. Look, I'm shaking," Hermione breathed. She held out her trembling hands.

Neville turned to face them and she quickly shoved her hands in her pockets.

"If anything happens," Neville began as they stopped in front of the door, "remember, we're witches and wizards. We have our wands and he doesn't. Three on one, we can settle the situation." He turned to face the door. He took several deep calming breathes. He pushed lightly on the door, which swung open in response. "Huh, that was not what I expected to happen."

Neville straightened his back at the sight of Harry, who was staring at them with wide green eyes from his bed. He'd seen the boy several times before, though never without a face full of battle wounds. The unmarred face before him shocked him. His nose was no longer slightly crooked, the bruising and swelling long gone. The scratches and burns that had littered his arms and face were gone as well. Neville wondered how Harry had gotten those in the first place. He no longer looked like a criminal. Just a boy. Their age, maybe.

"Harry," Neville said, with an air of authority. "Mind if we come in?"

Ginny and Hermione moved closer behind Neville, each trying to get a glimpse of the room and its infamous occupant. Harry's unfocused eyes swept over them.

"You know, you're the first person to ask. Usually they just walk right in." He reached under the bed and pulled a pair of wire-framed glasses out. He shoved them haphazardly on to his face. Neville thought they made him look younger.

Neville smiled congenially. "I take it that's a yes?" He asked as he shuffled into the room. He beckoned Hermione and Ginny to follow him in. They shyly slid in behind him, backs pressed against the wall. "Hope you don't mind that I brought some friends."

"The more the merrier," Harry muttered, his eyes drifting to two familiar faces hiding behind Neville's broad shoulders. Hermione did her best not to wilt under his strong gaze.

Ginny, for her part, was trying to hide the blush that was creeping up her neck. She hadn't seen him since – well since he was at The Burrow, where he'd spoken to her like he'd known her, intimately. Or so she had told him. He wasn't there - he didn't know.

"Listen," Neville's voice sliced through the air, "I never, I didn't get to tell you this last time I saw you, at the trial, but I'm sorry for what happened in Diagon Alley. I just-"

"I know," Harry said. His face looked a little more open and bright now. "I think I would have done the same thing if I were you. I understand that now. I've had a lot of time to myself to think." He smiled, as if sharing some private joke.

An uncomfortable silence fell on the group.

"So who are your friends," Harry asked. That same mocking smile found its way back onto his face. It grated Neville's nerves more than it should have.

"Oh, er, yeah," Neville stuttered and played with his hair. "The red head is Ginny – you've met her before."

"I believe I have." Harry's smile broadened when Ginny let out a tiny squeak of embarrassment.

"And the other one is Hermione. She's real smart. Brightest witch of our year! It was her idea to come here today."

"Really?" Harry asked, shock distorting his features. Hermione jutted out her chin and stuck her hands on her hips in response. She noticeable stayed silent.

"I see you have your own little slice of paradise," Ginny commented as she took in the shockingly white room. "Walls are comfy."

"They're so I don't hurt myself," Harry said flatly. Ginny's mouth formed a small "o" shape.

"Um, anyway," Neville said in an awkward redirection of conversation, "We have some questions for you."

Harry looked attentively at Neville.

"We – well there's a war going on. And we know that you aren't who they say you are."

Harry nodded in agreement. "That's probably true. Ask away Nev."

Neville faltered at the friendly nickname. His mouth was flopping around like a fish when Hermione decided to step in.

"First things first – Who are you?"

"Blunt like a true Gryffindor," Harry smiled. "Who do they say I am?"

"They, the press, call you the Shadow. The Or – uh, Dumbledore's group or what's left of it, calls you Harry."

"What happened to the Order?" Harry asked, alarmed. He took several deep breaths before continuing. "How can you fight Voldemort-" Harry stopped himself short, words dying on the tip of his tongue.

The trio looked at each other in silent communication. "How do you know about the Order?" Ginny asked. Simultaneously Neville asked "You want to fight Voldemort?"

Harry leaned back against his cot. "Someone came to me the other day with a wild theory. But now I've started to believe it. He told me I was from an Alternate Universe."

"That's not possible," Hermione began. Neville recognized that tone of voice – she was about to start some sort of Merlin-awful lecture.

She stopped abruptly and moved closer to Harry. "How'd you get that scar?" she asked as she pushed Harry's bangs out of his forehead. Her eyebrows furrowed intensely.

Suddenly Neville and Ginny were beside her, their gazes intent on the other boy's forhead.

"That looks just like mine," Neville said quietly. He traced the familiar pattern on his forehead. It was slightly off center, just as Harry's was. And both were an angry red. "If – if what that bloke said was true, you're your world's Boy-Who-Lived. Has yours been hurting you lately?"

Harry nodded. "Do you know why?"

"Because Voldemort and I – and you and him, I suppose – share a link. And he must be real mad about something."

"He's always mad," Ginny said under her breathe. Neville grimaced. He always forgot Ginny knew what it was like having Tom in your head. She was the only one who understood it – until now.

"How much has Dumbledore told you," Harry asked slowly, glancing heavily at Hermione and Ginny.

Neville looked at his two friends and back to Harry. "They know as much as I do. I'd never keep anything from them. That's why we came here. The Order wouldn't tell us anything, and we've got as much of a right to know as anyone." He stood resolutely.

Harry nodded. "Do you know what your, our," he amended, "link is, truly?"

Neville frowned. "No. I never did understand." He wished he did though.

Harry tucked his knees up under his chin. "Do you know what the Diary was? Assuming you destroyed one."

"They did," Ginny said thickly. "It was a horcrux. Neville told us."

Harry sat in silence for minutes. "How many are here? Have you started tracking them down yet?"

"Not yet," Neville answered slowly, struggling to see where Harry's line of questioning was going. Judging by the look on his friends' faces, they weren't sure either. "Dumbledore won't tell me much about them – how many, what they could be. I don't- I'm not even sure how to destroy them." Neville wondered if it was because Dumbledore didn't trust him with something so important. The thought stung.

Harry shrugged. "Me either. I bet Hermione would have known."

At this Hermione piped up, "Well I have been researching it. I started as soon as Neville told me. I haven't found much of anything though. Horcruxes are seriously dark magic – too dark to even write about."

"How many?" Harry asked again, his voice seeming purposefully light. Neville shrugged. Did the number matter?

"Seven, probably," Ginny said. At the incredulous looks she explained further, "It's an important number in Arithmancy and wizarding lore! If I were an evil witch I'd want seven of everything around me."

"I don't see what any of this has to do with our link to Voldemort," Neville shuffled.

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She stared, horrified, at Harry and Neville. A muffled "oh" slipped out of her mouth. Neville and Ginny stared at her, confusion plastered across their faces. Harry frowned grimly.

* * *

"My Lord," the cloaked figure said as he swept into a deep bow.

"Rise and speak."

Cygnus eyes caught a silvery wisp of movement out of the corner of his eye. He shivered involuntarily.

"Speak," the high pitched voice of the Dark Lord hissed.

"I have come bearing intriguing news my Lord," Cygnus began, "While leaving St. Mungo's earlier this evening I happened upon…" The words died in his throat.

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed and his nose-slits flared dramatically. "Yes?" he whispered.

Cygnus braced himself. "I saw the Longbottom boy with the Mudblood and Weasley girls enter the room of The Shadow."

Cygnus cringed backwards, waiting for the inevitable blow. But it never came. He chanced a glance at his master. Voldemort was sitting stone-faced; his long white hands perched elegantly in his lap. Nagini slithered into view at his feet.

Voldemort smiled, his thin serpentine lips parting unpleasantly. "Malfoy, it seems we have a change in plans." Voldemort rose slowly from his chair, arms splayed at his sides, as if beckoning his loyal followers in for a hug. "Gather a team of 4 men, Malfoy; my hand has been pushed by the arrogant actions of our enemies. I have no choice – We must halt all decisive actions against Diagon Alley and reallocate our resources. Our plans for St. Mungos must go into action immediately."

The room was silent. Beside Cygnus, Malfoy tittered.

"My Lord, I fear that I am not worthy of such an honor-"

"Do you question me?" Voldemort's unusually emotionless voice struck a fear in Cygnus that he had not felt in a long time.

"I-no my lord."

"It is imperative that Dumbledore does not get his hands on this boy. What greater joy than to rip that which he so desperately wants out from his hands? Shall you do well Malfoy…the reward will be greater than you can imagine. "

The unsaid threat hung heavily in the air. Malfoy gulped audibly. "Yes my lord."

* * *

Rosier stopped mid-step when he witnessed the trio exiting the inpatient ward.

"Ah, Neville," he yelled out cheerily, ignoring the scandalized looks of the mediwitches. Neville stared at Rosier uncertainly as the older man crossed the hallway. "And Neville's beautiful friends! What a coincidence running into you here."

The bushy haired girl glared nastily at him. "Yes, it is," she said. She made to grab Neville's hand, but Rosier intercepted her.

"Listen Neville, you and I need to have a little talk," he said, laying a gentle hand on Neville's shoulder, "As uh, your former council, I feel the need to speak out about a little issue," he eyed the two young women, "privately."

"Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of them."

Apprehension filled Rosier's stomach. "Are you sure about that?"

"It's not like you have any confidential information-"

"Are you sure about that? I happen to know many things-"

"You don't know anything," the red-head purred.

Rosier's eyes wandered to the thick door behind the trio. "I can make a very educated guess as to what you three were doing here this afternoon."

"You keep talking, but your words don't mean anything," Neville snapped.

"They might mean something to the right people, for the right price," Rosier shrugged. "I'm sure the public would eat up the latest saga of The Shadow. I can see it splashed across the front page now – The Shadow and Boy-Who-Lived, Conspirators."

"The press doesn't bother me much these days," Neville commented lightly. "Now get on with it. We haven't got all day."

"You Gryffindors are always the same – no time for small talk."

"I'm serious Rosier," Neville warned.

Looking put out Rosier huffed "Fine. It has come to my attention that you're no longer aiding the Ministry of Magic in their 'battle' against the Dark Lord."

"So? Where have you been?" Rosier didn't particularly like this red head. She was so rude.

"So," Rosier drawled, "Neville needs to fix that."

"No." Came Neville's immediate response.

"But we need you there-" He began, only to be cut off by the wizarding savior.

"I'm sure your lot do – but no. I'm not helping you out any. If you think I would you're a bigger moron than I thought."

"You misunderstand me," Rosier said quickly, "Not my lot – the wizarding world. Everyone."

"I used to be a pawn of the Ministry, but now I'm not," Neville nearly snarled. "I will not – ever – go crawling back to that poor corrupt excuse of a -"

"Right, and you're also picking up the ladies left, right, and center," Rosier snapped back. "You think you're still not being played, little boy? There is more going on here than your naive mind could ever dream of. There is no good side and bad side. There are no clear lines drawn in the sand. This is a war – not some schoolyard game of dodge ball."

Neville puffed out his chest. "I – I may not know what a dodge ball is, but I know more than you lot seem to think I do – a lot more. I'm not stupid; I can make my own decision."

"You'll regret this – you have no idea what you're getting in to. You could do more good in the Ministry than you even know-"

"Taking advice from a Death Eater is something I'd qualify as stupid," Neville said snidely.

Rosier glared at the Boy-Who-Lived. Suddenly he was exhausted. With a shake of his head he said, "And yet here you sit, corralled by the likes of Dumbledore. Doing his dirty work for six, seven, long years."

* * *

**a/n:** just setting more things in motion, hence the relative shortness of this chapter.

sorry if my updates are slow - life. :)


	21. Questions

**I do not own Harry Potter. **

* * *

_ Questions_

* * *

"Finally," Rosier snipped, "took you long enough."

He pushed off the wall he had been leaning on for the last, he glanced at the golden pocket watch in his hand, hour. He was in a particularly grumpy mood since failing to implement the plan with Neville. They'd have to go back to the drawing board on that.

"I'm an important man, Evan," Regulus drawled as he strolled to the door.

Rosier rolled his eyes. Just like Black to act nonplussed during such an important time. Or maybe he just hid his nerves well. On second glance he looked tired and frail. Rosier wasn't sure. It could have been the light. Either way, he wasn't fond of the Blacks, they were too slick in every way, if there was such a thing as a Slytherin who was too slimy.

"Did you get it?"

Regulus looked offended, "Of course I did! Who do you think I am?"

"I can think of a few things," Rosier muttered darkly.

It was Regulus's turn to roll his eyes. "Let's just get this other with. The quicker the better."

Rosier nodded in agreement. Time was short and winnowing away.

* * *

_WEREWOLVES MARCH ON MINISTRY_

_A crowd of Werewolves gathered in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic yesterday morning to protest the seven bills based _

James glanced forlornly at the newspaper he held in his hands and sighed. He liked playing the good cop – he was the fun parent, the non-intimidating one. But sometimes, some things just called for him to don the proverbial hat of McGonagall. And this was one of those times. Time to be Mr. Potter, not James. With measured movements he folded his paper, placed it on the table, and folded his hands in front of him.

"Want to tell me what this is all about." It wasn't a question.

"Well James, sir, sir Potter, sir," Neville stuttered out, "We uh." He cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked to his two friends for help.

Hermione looked rather ashamed, Ginny not so much. She stared coolly back at him, brown eyes unapologetic.

"It must have been rather important for Molly to think she needed to bring you three here. To my doorstep. Before noon. On a weekend," James ground out.

Ginny dropped her gaze to study the grain of the table.

Molly was out in the living room with Lily, no doubt sharing all that she knew. Not even five minutes ago had she burst through the front door dragging them in by their ears. She was eerily calm and collected, which had gotten James immediate attention. Something big had happened and Molly was scared.

"No answer?" He pushed, one eyebrow raised. He glanced up at the movement in the doorway – just Molly and Lily entering the room.

"Well," He said in between sips of his tea, "I can sit here all day."

He was nowhere near as frightening as McGonagall. He watched Molly busy herself with the tea set. The silence, occasionally broken by the clinking of tea cups or a spoon, seemed to stretch on forever. He hadn't lied when he said he could do this all day. He'd done it before, with witches and wizards in custody and with his daughter and son.

"We visited with The Shadow," Neville spit out. Hermione and Ginny looked at him with wide eyes and pursed lips. "What? We may as well tell him now before the rest of the New- er the uh the group arrives."

Now James was intrigued. "He's right girls; several people are on their way over now to discuss what we should do about this situation. Now that I know what it is…well I can make some recommendations for your punishment, if you tell me what I want to know."

"We already know what you know," Hermione said, "So what's in it for us? We've found out more than you and Dumbledore combined, in a matter of hours."

"What's in it for you? You tell me what you talked about, and I'll make sure Molly doesn't keep you on level red security alert."

"She already does," Ginny stated. She and Hermione shared a look. "I suppose we could help you out. On one condition."

James crossed his arms, annoyed. "And what's that?"

"We get to be in your group." The clinking of the tea set stopped suddenly.

"What group?" James asked, startled. How did they know? He sighed internally. They'd have to tighten their security. They were too lax. It was too dangerous. If some snoopy teenagers could find out...James shivered at the thought of what a more devious person could do.

Ginny leaned in conspiratorially. "Your rebel Order group, of course. You can't leave us out of this anymore. Harry came to us – me – first. And I'll bet he'll try to find me again. We're in this whether you like it or not."

"Deal," James said immediately, cutting off Molly's shrill decree that the children were too young. James didn't agree with her. Neville was the Boy-Who-Lived, he was made for this, and he had the right to know. Plus, whatever Neville knew, his friends would know too.

"You're awful at this Mr. Potter," Neville smiled. Hermione tried her best to smother a small smirk.

James gestured in the air vaguely. "I've lost my touch since my school days." He heard a knock on the door. "Ah, our guests have arrived. Any last confessions?"

"We prefer an audience," Hermione said smugly. James smiled appraisingly.

* * *

They had slid into his cell like shadows, inky black cloaks concealing their intentions and giving them a menacing air. He had assumed it was one of his previous visitors sneaking back in, and was surprised to see the pale and disheveled features of the bane of his existence pop into sight. Two banes. They stood side by side like suspicious partners in crime. Their faces were hardened – as emotionless as the white masks they donned late at night and in dark alley ways. He had been told Regulus would return, and he hadn't believed him. Yet here he was, in the harsh light looking like he had spent 12 years of his own in Azkaban, standing with the enigma that was Evan Rosier.

He had been so enamored with the devious man that Harry had missed the first words spoken.

"You're going to what?" Harry asked the two tall dark haired Death Eaters standing before him, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

"Break you out," Regulus said calmly. No hint of emotion lay behind those eyes.

Harry's eyes darted between his sudden companions. "Why?" Suspicion colored his voice.

"Because we like you," Rosier chirped, his friendly voice decidedly at odds with his wooden face. He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the wall.

Harry could feel his heart trying to weasel into his throat. He choked it back.

Regulus sighed wearily and strolled towards Harry, "Because Voldemort wants you – but it's too risky for you to be around him. It's for your own safety. Don't worry, I have an entire plan."

"Don't wor - what's this plan involve?" Harry's eyes narrowed. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.

"Just you know," Regulus said deceptively casually, "hiding out and staying low, you telling me about your dimension, uh, fighting and killing Voldemort. The usual evil plans, really."

Harry cradled his head in his hands. "You two want to kill Voldemort."

Regulus and Rosier looked at each other, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. "Well, yeah," Rosier finally said.

Harry smiled against his palms. "Last time I trusted you, Black, I ended up in a prison cell being tortured."

"So does that mean you won't come," Rosier asked, "because of a little tiff with Regulus?" Harry nodded the affirmative. "You'd rather stay in St. Mungos, where Voldemort's cronies are coming to get you and put you back in that cell?"

"You two could be the cronies," Harry pointed out.

"Well, there is an easy way to remedy this," Rosier said to Regulus, "Harry, Stupefy."

And like that Harry's world went black.

* * *

This wasn't Draco's first dance, but it was his first official one. He'd always show up on raids and attacks uninvited. Of course, he'd have to deal with his parents afterwards but it was always worth it. Today though, it was official. He was a legitimate part of the group. He didn't like it.

He slipped into the hall and began placing little pots of potion along the corridor. On the floors below his teammates were doing something similar.

He pulled his watch out of his pocket. Seven minutes until go time.

He mentally rehearsed the plan in his head. He'd come up with it, but Crouch had eagerly taken the praise for it. Perhaps he was better off. If something went wrong, which it wouldn't, then Crouch would be the one taking all of the heat. Or most of it.

Draco frowned. There was no telling what the Dark Lord's reaction would be. He had been there when The Dark Lord had his pet snake devour Professor Snape. He had felt the bile rise in his throat but remained stiff and emotionless, like his father next to him. The man who had vowed to protect him – gone, for what? A perceived slight?

Draco thought of the members who had a lot more at stake than he did. How scared were they? It was natural, to be scared, right? Draco wasn't sure. His cousin never seemed scared, not even when he was standing toe to toe with the Dark Lord. Draco would find himself shriveling under the dark wizards gaze, reduced to a pile of sweat and quivering lips. Not his cousin though. And Rosier, who was instrumental in all of this – what was he feeling? He must have been terrified at the trial or even on his new mission now. Both of them, given seemingly impossible tasks, yet they completed them. They came back, unafraid of punishment, with better and cleverer plans, with grim determination. Or they came back with tall tales of fire fights and heroics and smug satisfaction plastered on their faces.

His father was scared. Draco knew that. He could see it plainly on the older man's face. Scared of what though? He'd often overheard his mother and father arguing when he was younger, about his cousin. Draco couldn't remember what exactly it was about, just that he had gotten into some sort of trouble. Ever since then his father told him that Regulus would never be able to find cause for fear. His mother didn't say anything.

Draco didn't have time to ponder it any further. In the distance he heard a muffled bang and a wail of sirens.

It was time.

* * *

The kids and Molly had left an hour ago. They'd agreed to degnoming the yard for a week, a light punishment, as he had promised them. James peeled his attention from the clock-face to his friends.

"If what they say is true it matches up with what James says. I – I don't believe it though. It's too absurd. I mean, I believed it before, but this is just too good to be true. What if it's a trap?" Sirius ranted.

"We need Tonks. She said Dawlish has the boy's file. If we could get our hands on that-"

"You think the horcruxes are mentioned in there? Merlin…this could be a disaster. Or a trap."

"I know," Remus agreed, "But if this is true, imagine the damage that could happen if Harry ends up in Voldemort's hands. We can't let that happen."

"Are you talking about breaking into St. Mungos and making off with public enemy number one?" Sirius asked.

"I think he is, Padfoot," James said as a delighted grin formed on his face.

"Well now you're both just putting words in my mouth," Remus protested weakly.

"I hate to be the one to ruin your plans, but I think someone beat you to it," Lily butted in. She turned up the old fashioned radio so everyone could hear it.

_"We repeat, mass destruction at St. Mungos Hospital. Muggles and Magical folks alike injured after a tremendous explosion happened in an unknown ward. Aurors have put up wards and ministry workers are struggling to keep Muggles away from the raging inferno. The whereabouts of the infamous Shadow are currently unknown. It is not know if he was indeed behind the blast-"_

Lily snapped the radio off. Her pale face was tight with worry. "What's plan B?" she asked quietly.

* * *

"Where is he?" Draco asked his father. This was the right room. He was sure of it. He knew. The smoke from the rubble cleared and it was apparent that the boy was nowhere to be found. The inhabitants of the other rooms blinked blearily around, confused. They'd have to take care of them. Draco kicked debris out of his way and poked under the fallen structures. Lights flashed and the beams of light from their wands roamed over the ground.

"Someone tipped him off," the elder Malfoy seethed. He twirled around and faced the specially selected group – Travers, McNair, Crouch, and Draco. "Everyone, fan out and find him. We'll reconvene at the safe house in an hour. If you're not there we will not come get you."

They'd all be punished for this Draco realized. His eyes roamed over the ashen faces around him. They were scared too.

"Well, hurry up!"

They scattered, like cockroaches scurrying from a light. Draco's world seemed to slow down. He couldn't hear properly - something clogged up his ears and he felt the blood drain out of his face. He ran through the darkness, knowing they had to find him before the Aurors arrived. If they didn't...well he knew that too. There was a traitor in the circle, and they were all going to die.

* * *

**:)**


	22. Runaway

**AN: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Much longer chapter for you guys!**

* * *

_Runaway_

* * *

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Rosier sad quietly as they lugged an unconscious Harry Potter through the torrential downpour and into Regulus's vacation home. Were they in the Alps? Rosier couldn't be sure. Regulus had set up about five different portkeys. Rosier thought it was overkill. But, on second thought, maybe it wasn't. Where ever they were, it would have been pretty in any other type of weather.

"Which part? Regulus asked dryly. He couldn't believe it either, but he wouldn't let his face betray him.

Rosier shook his head and adjusted the boy in his arms. "We're going to get caught."

"Eventually," Regulus conceded, "but not today."

Rosier understood. Regulus had taken precautions. Regulus was an idiot, but he wasn't stupid – as silly as that sounded. Hence the five portkeys. Hence the new wands. He'd covered their tracks. But a wizard like Voldemort, who has time, anger, and lackeys on his side, would eventually find them. And when he did…well, it wasn't the first time Rosier contemplated using a certain sickly green curse on himself just to end it quickly.

"I hope you know what you're doing because I'm not sticking around to get murdered because of you."

" I've told you already – I know. I'm sure of it. Just – you can claim you had no knowledge of it if you like." Regulus pushed open the heavy front door and stepped into the hall. A puddle immediately formed at his feet. "It hasn't rained this hard in awhile." His words were stilted and awkward. Rosier smiled at the clumsy attempt to change the subject.

"You know – shit," Harry's head smashed against the doorframe.

Regulus held in a breath and stared at Rosier. "This is why I wanted you to take the feet," He began warningly.

Rosier adjusted Harry in his arms once more and pulled a face. "Anyway, in Muggle Studies we learned that rain in muggle novels is symbolic for like, I don't remember, change and new life or whatever," Rosier commented mildly as he lowered Harry to the floor.

"I know – we were in that class together. Sixth year was it?"

"So, is that what you think this is? A new life or something?" Rosier peered at him intensely. It made Regulus's skin crawl.

Regulus stared back. "No." He looked away and let his cloak drop lifelessly to the floor.

Rosier shrugged. "I think it might be. Because I guess in a way death is a new life."

"When did you get so philosophical?" Regulus asked as he cast a quick drying spell on his sopping socks. He wriggled his toes, content with the suddenly warm wool on his feet.

"'Bout the time I agreed to commit treason against the Dark Lord."

Rosier's friend said quietly, "That'll do it."

"Right, well. My work here is done," Rosier clapped his hands together, "I'll see you at the meeting tonight?" He asked as he twirled back to the door, opening it slightly.

Regulus slammed it shut. Standing nose to nose he snarled in Rosier's ear, "If you even attempt to set foot outside of this house without me I will kill you – in the most creative and painful ways you can imagine."

The rainfall got louder. More frenzied.

Rosier, his lip curled in disgust and nose haughtily raised looked down at Regulus and said "I like my spleen where it is, thank you very much."

Regulus was silent for a moment, his pale eyes searching Rosier's face. "Then we have a deal."

"I suppose we do. Shake on it?" Rosier asked, extending his arm. Regulus knew what he was asking – an unbreakable vow. He felt much better about having Rosier in on this now than he had before.

* * *

Harry didn't wake for a few more hours. His eyes finally fluttered open when Rosier and Regulus had sat down to play chess.

"Ah, Harry. You're awake."

"Regulus," Harry spat out. He rubbed his head, leaving his hair sticking up at all angles. Regulus thought he looked very much like a grumpy kitten. "Rosier."

"Sorry about the head trauma. It happens." Rosier smiled over his mug of tea. "Tea? Muffin? You could use a muffin, you're very thin."

Harry ignored the muffin that was bouncing against his cheek. "This is your plan, huh? Knock me out and keep me in a cabin until Voldemort comes to get me?" he asked as he looked around the bare home.

"Not at all," Regulus said from behind his cup of hot chocolate. "The plan is to keep you in this cabin until we find a way to destroy Voldemort. And then destroy him."

"Don't you have Neville for that?" Harry snapped.

"He's useless," Rosier stated. "I tried to get him in on the plan but he refused."

Regulus's eyes slide from Rosier and landed on Harry. "It's like my mum used to say, Potter, two boys-who-lived is better than one. And I suspect you know more than Neville about this whole Voldemort killing business anyway."

"Your mum says that?" Rosier asked in disbelief, over Harry. Regulus sent him a look and he quieted. He beckoned Harry to continue.

"Well I don't," Harry said stiffly. The muffin was looming next to his ear.

"And there's the familiar Gryffindor scowl I'm so fond of! You've had how many weeks – months – to yourself to think of a plan? You must have one."

"I do – but that doesn't mean I'm going to share it with the likes of you two. Where I'm from -"

"An alternate dimension."

"No, Surrey."

"Alternate Surrey, then," Regulus rolled his eyes. "You still haven't accepted it yet have you?"

"I have, but if you'd let me finish," Harry said hotly, staring down the older man. Once he was sure the other wouldn't interrupt him again he continued, "Where I'm from I don't share plans with Death Eaters."

Regulus rolled his eyes, "Yes, the most loyal of the bunch we are."

"Does that plan involve escaping from this cabin? Because I bet you didn't factor that in," Rosier muttered beneath his breath.

"Fine," Regulus growled. "Plan for a plan?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "You show me yours and I'll show you mine?" Confusion flashed across the purebloods faces. "Never mind. You go first."

"The plan is simple – we destroy what's keeping Voldemort alive. And then kill him. I reckon your plan is similar."

"You know what's keeping him alive?" Harry's heart was pounding.

"We're two very smart men," Rosier said as his knight smashed one of Regulus's bishops. "He has seven. One of which has been destroyed by Neville already."

"Nine."

Regulus's cup thunked heavily against the table, "Excuse me."

"I said he has nine," Harry repeated, louder.

"Merlin's anus," Rosier began to let out a string of swears that Harry believed to be the most varied and creative groupings he'd ever heard before. Not even the filthy things Ron had said came close to the vile things spewing out of Rosier's mouth.

"What are they?" Regulus asked timidly, as if he truly didn't want to know the answer.

"Me and Neville." Rosier's stream of swearing cut off suddenly.

"I'm going to regret asking this, but – how?"

"I don't know, Neville doesn't either. But somehow, in uh my world, when I was a baby Voldemort transferred a piece of his soul to me. Same happened to Neville. That's why we've got these scars."

Regulus seemed to struggle to come up with words.

"And how do we get rid of them?"

"We have to die."

"You have to…" Regulus' voice failed him for a moment. "And you're prepared to do that?"

"I think we both are."

"You have to die? What is this – this isn't like you truly going off the deep end is it? I've risked my life doing this – and my family's – and now you're saying you're going to off yourself? Well fuck that. Excuse me. I'm so sorry, I always forget I can't curse in front of little kids." Rosier fumed, eyes locked onto Harry's green ones.

"So tell me Harry, do you know how to destroy a Horcrux," Regulus asked suddenly, pulling a jeweled goblet from inside his cloak.

Rosier stared at the cup, his mouth seemingly unhinged.

Harry looked at Regulus cautiously. "That's a horcrux?"

Regulus nodded. "This, Harry, belonged to one Helga Hufflepuff."

"Where," Harry licked his lips and reached out hesitantly with his hand. He withdrew it sharply, as if he had been burned. Green eyes found blue. "How did you get that?" Harry asked thickly. His head was cloudy with distant memories.

"Goblins," Regulus offered with a small shrug. His gaze shifted to the floor.

"I went with Dumbledore to a cave- the inferi were, they dragged me under and Dumbledore saved me. At least, I thought he did. He had...there was a locket in a basin. A horcrux. "

Rosier shifted in his chair. "Dumbledore knows?" Rosier looked sharply at Regulus.

"I guess. I don't know. I'm not sure. I don't know anything anymore," Harry said hopelessly. "I thought..." He trailed off.

"You thought what?"

"It's crazy."

Regulus looked unamused. "You're from an alternate universe - I don't think it gets any crazier than that."

"I thought Dumbledore, my Dumbledore, cared about me. But I think he was just grooming me to die." Harry sucked in a shivering breath. The weight of the world was on his shoulders. What did it matter what he told these people? "This isn't my home, my fight. I can't do this."

"But it is Harry," Rosier said calmly, "No matter where you go, what universe you travel to, with that piece of the Dark Lord embedded in you it's always going to be your fight. You can't run away from it."

"What's a little death and dying," Regulus edged in, "when you're saving the wizarding world?"

Harry knew they were right. But doubts nagged at him. "I don't know if I can."

"Would you do it in your universe?" Rosier asked, Regulus echoing him with "For your friends? Your mum and dad?"

"Of course I would," Harry shot back, glaring at the two men.

"Then what's so different here?" Rosier waved his hand around.

"Everything," Harry stressed. "This isn't my home. These people aren't my friends. James and Lily, my parents are dead. They're not them. All I wanted was a family, my mum and dad. But it's not them. I can't even – everyone here thinks I'm some sort of criminal. "

"You can't go back," Regulus said softly, "You're stuck here. It's your home now, whether you like it or not. You were given a second chance – are you honestly going to let it slip away because you're too afraid?"

Harry sat slack jawed. Suddenly his resolve steeled itself.

"No."

Rosier smiled once more and returned to the game of chess sitting before him.

* * *

"I told you, I don't know what the other horcruxes are," Harry ground out.

"Well, what ones do you know?"

"We've been over this already-"

"So? Go over it again. We're missing something." Regulus threw himself onto the couch, socked feet hanging over the arm. His over laden goblet was, miraculously, still full to the brim.

Harry sighed. "The diary, the locket, the cup, the ring, the snake, me, Neville. I don't know what else there could be."

Harry was restless. All the inactivity was getting to him. Rosier and Regulus seemed fine, though. They sat up late into the night drawing up intricate plans and conversing for hours over minor details. Harry didn't see the point in such in depth planning – things always went sideways when he was involved. Rosier had hushed him quickly when he'd said so and began a speech about preparedness. They needed to solve any possible unknowns first, and then they could begin.

Through their long nights together Harry slowly learned that they were often the masterminds – along with one or two others who Harry had never heard of before – of the Death Eaters most successful attacks. The Hogsmeade Train Massacre, the one investigator tried to pin on him, had been their doing. Rabastan Lestrange had been an integral component, killing well over 30 people himself. But even more than that – The Diagon Alley Blitz, Chunnel Collapse, the Assault on Appleby, and an attack during a Cannons match against the Bats. They reminisced, voices lilting and laughter falling pleasantly out of their mouths as they spoke of people begging for their lives and the silly things they offered up instead, as they imitated the hysterics of men and women fleeing in terror.

Instead of vitriol rising in his throat, Harry had been oddly calm and accepting of it. He chalked it up to shock, but he wasn't too sure if that was the true reason. Perhaps deep down it comforted him, learning that they knew what they were doing, that they were capable and unintimidated by death and battle. They would literally do anything to win their battle. Maybe he was lucky then, that they were on his side.

As long as he ignored the implications of a successful Death Eater attack, he could handle it. So he busied himself to keep his mind from thinking too much on it.

But every so often he found himself staring at them and wondering what they would have done to him, his friends, his family, if he hadn't have been important in their quest. He wondered what they would do to him if he refused to go along with their plans.

This wasn't about saving the Wizarding World – it was about ridding it of another Half-blood who lied about his true quest. They didn't hate Voldemort because he was the perpetrator of genocide – they hated him because he wanted immortality more than a pure gene pool. They were getting rid of him before he got rid of them. It was about self-preservation. It was about unseating Voldemort and replacing him with a more respectable figure. You didn't have to look very deep to see the ugly truth – they were no better than the man they were trying to kill. Lurking beneath the charming, polished exteriors were monsters just as perverse and guilty. The only difference was that these monsters were capable of understanding human emotions, and course correcting to account for that.

"I bet he has something of Ravenclaws or Gryffindors-" Rosier mused. Harry's gaze drifted from the map above the fireplace to the cup of tea in his hand.

"Why would he want anything to do with Gryffindor?" Regulus butt in, "He's a Slytherin."

"Well then why would he want anything from Hufflepuff?"

"Because she was a pureblood? I don't know, why don't you go and ask?"

"He wants objects that are valuable, probably famous or legendary," Harry drawled. His brain hurt. He felt pulled in two different directions. Regulus had told him the week before that he shouldn't think too much about the moral and ethical dilemmas of working with Death Eaters, or he'd have an existential crisis. But he couldn't help but think of the blood that stained those hands. He knew they slept well at night. But he didn't. Their sins were weighing on him.

"So, either Ravenclaw's Diadem or..whatever Gryffindor had." Regulus nodded slowly to himself.

"A sword," The words came mechanically out of Harry's mouth. He felt like he wasn't him, like someone else was controlling him, his body, his words. He was watching himself act and move and speak. His voice sounded strange to his ears.

"Excuse me?"

Harry looked up. "Gryffindor had a sword."

"Oh I bet the Dark Lord would love to have that in his collection!" Rosier smiled. It was a feral smile and it sent chills up Harry's spin. It was like he was seeing him for the first time. Rosier, his gentle demeanor just an act that barely concealed the rolling rage underneath, that always threatened to spill out. His words, their steady tenor meant to be comforting and disarming seemed alien and detached.

Harry met Rosier's dark eyes, staring up at him from the sallow face that laid on the table, flat and soulless. "He couldn't – not if Neville used it to kill the basilisk."

"Sometimes I think you just make things up, Harry," Rosier said. He picked his face up off the haphazardly stacked papers of Harry's medical file and stared blankly. Not a hint of emotion.

Regulus rubbed his chin."So you killed the basilisk with the sword, and the diary with a basilisk fang?"

Harry confirmed. Harry fixed his captors with a significant stare. "The sword has basilisk venom in it still – or at least it did, I don't know. Its goblin made and that's…something. That's why the ring was killed."

"So we know basilisk venom kills Horcruxes," Regulus drawled, "The question is how do we get it and kill that thing?" Regulus elbowed in the direction of the heavily jeweled cup.

"Well, Neville killed the basilisk right?" Harry asked.

"Did he?" Rosier snipped. Regulus shrugged. Harry knew by now that Regulus' cavalier attitude was used to mask the feelings of fear that came with the unknown. Regulus, Harry learned, didn't like the unknowns.

Harry sat in silent thought for a long moment. "If he did - I know how to get the sword."

"You do?" Regulus asked, suddenly alert. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and tossed his now empty goblet over his shoulder.

"Only a true Gryffindor can get it," Harry said distractedly, the clanging of the goblet holding his attention. The hollow ringing echoed through the rooms.

"Only a true - of course," Regulus slumped back into the cushions. "I should have guessed. Where are we going to find a true Gryffindor."

"I need the Sorting Hat." Harry stated, as he glared at Regulus with pursed lips. "I'm a true Gryffindor, I can get the sword. But we need the hat."

"What," Rosier deadpanned.

Regulus stared at him accusingly. "Why would you need the hat?"

"It can give me the sword," Harry said slowly, as if he was speaking to a young child.

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

Regulus rolled his eyes and rubbed a hand over his tired face.

Rosier threw his hands in the air, "You're letting us know this now? Why not two bloody weeks ago?"

"I forgot," Harry replied meekly. "So how do we get the hat?"

"You forgot." Rosier snorted. "We get some help, that's what we do."

Harry was scared.

* * *

When the first letter came she had thought it was an accident. But then the second, and third, and fourth letters came. Then they came every day. Each letter written in handsome flowing penmanship and signed with an X.

Today the owl came with two. She let out a barely audible screech of rage.

"Merlin, Hermione, who's the secret boyfriend?" Ron asked. He was finishing an essay at the table. He frowned at the jelly smeared across the parchment.

"Not my boyfriend Ronald," Hermione snapped. "It's probably just some practical-" she stopped short. The handwriting was different. It was rushed and the letters were sloppy. Slowly she opened it.

_Tired of waiting. Hogshead, tonight._

_xo_

Her heart seemed to be in her throat. She shoved the letter into her bag and swung it onto her shoulder.

"I'll see you in Potions," she said as she stalked off.

* * *

Stupid stupid stupid, she thought. She was so stupid. She pulled her cloak closer to her body, the cold air nipped at her ears and nose.

Hogsmeade was still being rebuilt from the devastating Death Eater attack in December. It was taking longer than usual because of complex wards and spells that had been placed by the attackers. It seemed like so long ago that it had happened. That was the night Harry showed up in this universe, she was certain of it. Since their adventure, she'd been doing reading. More than normal. It lead her to one conclusion, one that she had been trying to disprove : Harry was telling the truth.

Steeling her nerves, she finally entered the dingy establishment called the Hogshead.

This was all some joke, she thought. Probably Malfoy's doing. She'd give anything to hex that white haired prat within an inch of his life. She growled angrily. What if…No, she scolded herself, don't even think that. But what if Draco really did want to meet her? She huffed. No, there was no way. Jerk.

Eyes drifted to watch her as she made her way to an empty table in a far corner. She sat and the barman set a drink before her soon after. She drank it greedily and sputtered. Firewhiskey.

She waited for what seemed to be an eternity. It was long enough that her vision returned to normal and the warm tingly feeling in her face melted away. The patrons of the seedy pub had all but disappeared hours ago. The only ones left were the man snoring loudly at the bar and a group of nefarious looking fishermen. She sighed and stood, ready to leave, when he came.

He laid a gentle hand on her elbow and steered her towards the stairs, his hood obscuring his face.

"Wait - where are we going?" She protested quietly, but the man tightened his group and pushed her forward.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, fear tingeing her voice, as he guided her into an empty room. He locked the door behind him.

"Oh god, please," she murmured, "no." He moved closer to her, and hesitated, as if suddenly unsure.

"I won't hurt you mudblood."

Hermione screamed. The sound was ripped from her throat and suddenly she was being squeezed and jostled about. She tried to fight, punching and kicking and biting, but his hold was too strong. A sudden jolt knocked the breath from her lungs and sent her head against the floor.

Her world was spinning. He stomach threatened to empty its contents. She tried pushing the heavy body off her but found her limbs suddenly stiff. He pulled himself up slowly, and her with him. White dots danced in her eyes and then. Nothing.

Sleep pulled at her. Her head felt heavy and the world looked foggy.

"-ched pretty ba-"

The light hurt.

"-stopping for the night. I'll be there in a few days-"

She lurched up and heaved into a bin she didn't know had been there. She sat there, head hanging and nose sniffling, wishing the foul taste out of her mouth. A cup found its way to her lips -blessed water - and the bin managed to wriggle out from under her arms. She leaned back against the wall.

She heard heavy footsteps coming toward her. Her eyes fluttered open.

She peered at the silhouette in the doorway.

"Come to finish me off?" she croaked. She snuck her hand into her pocket, groping for her wand. It wasn't there. Her heart began to beat harder.

He moved closer, shadows playing across him, until he loomed over her. He was shirtless. She blushed and looked away. He smiled predatorily, and held her wand up between two fingers. Then, his hands gripped her chin and turned her face to look at him. He crouched before her, staring into her eyes, searching for something. He needed a haircut. She noticed with satisfaction that his lip was split and smiled in spite of herself.

He released her and sat next to her. "After I spent all that time fixing you up?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and stared at the doorway. "They'll come looking for me, you know." She pushed herself up but found her arms too weak. She rested against the wall.

"What makes you think that?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Because you kidnapped me."

He balked at the statement. Hermione felt giggles bubbling up at the absurd look on indignation on his face. She pushed them down.

"No?"

"No! Well - maybe technically. But you left after dark to meet a stranger. They'll think you ran away."

Hermione felt anger boiling inside her. "I would never-"

"We've already arranged it to look that way," he shrugged, a smile playing at his lips.

"What do you mean," she breathed. He shrugged again.

"And here I was thinking you were the brightest witch of our age." He sounded forlorn. He began to pull himself forward. She reacted without thinking - grabbed his arm. New pink skin covered her hand and up her arm. Words caught in her mouth and stumbled out past the tip of her tongue.

"Wait, you, things, done, did, me-" He cut her off with a bark of laughter and settled back down against the wall.

"What..."

He nodded toward her arm. "Regrew it."

She stared at him. He said it as if it had been a simple, every day task. "You...regrew my skin. How?"

"Magic."

* * *

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Four apparations later they arrived at their destination.

Four apparations and a week in each others company.

Hermione still didn't know who her captor was, or why he'd taken her. Or why she'd thought going alone to meet a stranger had been a good idea. She did know that trying to fight her way out was a lost cause. She'd tried it already, only to be told that Death Eaters had her parents under constant surveillance. After that she had stopped. She stopped eating, talking. She only watched and tried to glean what little information about him she could.

She watched him read, desperate to know what knowledge he held in his hands. The old house they were occupying had a giant library with thick tomes, most of which were in some indecipherable language. But he dug through them and read them all -every once in a while taking notes, or shoving a whole book into her beaded bag (which she had magically enlarged some number of days before), that he had re-purposed for his own use.

She watched him poke his wand around at a haphazardly stitched gash and set a finger with a homemade splint. Some pureblood, she had snorted. She wondered where he had learned that.

They left soon after he found the gash stayed closed under the stitches. Blood still made the dressing pink.

Now here they were, in a cold forest, four apparations away from where they had started.

As the handsome cabin appeared suddenly, she found all she could do was pray that this wasn't a muggle-born torture chamber, or Voldemort's secret command post.

He pushed her roughly into the house. Warmness enveloped her. She found her feet moving of their own volition, carrying her deeper into the building. Maps and papers littered the tables and lumpy cushions were awkwardly arranged. A coffee pot gurgled merrily. The fire cast soft light across the open level.

"Regulus!"

Hermione turned to find the owner of the shocked voice.

Regulus, the now named man, was looking up at the second floor; his head leaned back exposing his neck. "Brought you a present," his tone was subdued and so unlike what she was used to hearing.

Regulus. Where had she heard that name before? It was a star, she knew that. Mr. Black had said his family all had star names, well, most of them. She urged her brain to think faster.

"Regulus Black?" Hermione questioned. He gave her an unidentifiable look before returning his attention to the second man, who was thumping down the stairs.

"Hermione!" Scrawny and pale, a black bed-headed boy bobbed into sight.

"Harry?" she gasped. "What-"

"Don't question it. What matters is you're here now, safe, and about to have the adventure of a lifetime."

"You," She looked between Regulus and Harry, "He's a Death Eater," she whispered.

Regulus yelled from the kitchen, "Not anymore!" He reappeared with a mug of coffee steaming in his hand. He stared at the largest map on the wall. "Now, what do you know about horcruxes?"

* * *

"Hermione wouldn't just run away - and especially not for a boyfriend," Neville said loudly.

"Unless he's made of books, I don't think she would either. You have to believe us," Ginny begged.

James ran a hand through his hair. Things just kept getting worse. First there was the attack on St. Mungos and the disappearance of Harry. Soon after several bodies lacking heads had been found at Kings Cross. Their heads, the heads of several prominent Purebloods, suspected Death Eaters, were on the steps of Gringotts, wands jammed between their teeth. And now this. A missing muggle-born girl, who just happened to be the brains behind the Boy-Who-Lived's success. It couldn't have all been a coincidence. Something must have happened, and somewhere along the line someone messed up big time.

"You know, Mr. Potter," Neville murmured, "With everything that's happened, this can't be a coincidence. I read the news just like you do. Someone took her. Someone bad."

James sighed. Neville was right. Beside him he could hear Padfoot speaking in low tones to Moony.

"And you spoke to Dumbledore about this?" James asked.

"He didn't seem concerned," Ron said angrily.

"I find that a tad unbelievable, Ron," James said. Even Dumbledore had to be worried. Whatever the old man was doing, James was sure he wasn't just going to tell the kids. It was dangerous, allies and enemies were unknown. Dumbledore would be playing it close.

"Ok, well he and the teachers read the letters and he said she must have gone to meet her boyfriend," Ron amended, "They didn't listen to me when I said she didn't even have one."

"They called the Aurors," Neville added.

"Yeah," Ginny agreed, "The Aurors said they'd look for her."

James's eyebrow twitched. "And you don't think they'll find her?"

"No. Not if someone took her," Neville stood, eyebrows knit and jaw clenched tight.

"Someone, like who?" James pushed.

"Like a Death Eater." Everyone looked up at the new speaker. It was what they had all been thinking, but didn't want to say. Hearing it out loud made it all the more real. James's heart ached; children shouldn't have to deal with war and tragedy, but here they were, front and center. Nathan stood in the doorway. "Is she going to be okay?"

No one moved. Sirius and Remus rejoined the conversation. Remus slowly refolded the letters Ginny had given them and put them back in their envelopes.

"It's plausible, Prongs," Sirius said, "We looked over the letters and, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I know who we're looking for."

James felt the pit growing inside his stomach. He swallowed thickly. He looked at the kids standing before him, in his kitchen. He had promised them they wouldn't lie or keep things from them. He regretted that now. He was now gaining a better appreciation for the position Dumbledore must have constantly been in – wanting to protect, finding the balance between telling someone who is too young but too involved just what needs to be done.

"Who?" Ron stood ramrod straight, overly alert.

Sirius frowned. "My brother – I recognize his handwriting." Behind him Remus was nodding.

"I can't imagine Hermione would go with him herself," Sirius continued, "Either he took her or he had help. Someone to convince him. Have you three spoken with anyone suspicious lately?"

James knew Sirius knew the answer to that. Did he really think…

Ginny gasped. "You don't think Harry would do that would you?" Her eyes began to wet with unshed tears.

"We really don't know him, Ginny," Ron pulled his sister in close. Her sobs were muffled by his shirt. Ron was right; none of them really did know Harry. It was possible, however much he didn't want it to be true.

"We don't have evidence of that yet. Just speculation. Let's…we have to start somewhere."

Remus handed James a letter. "This is our only clue," he said, "whoever took Hermione met her at the Hogshead, in Hogsmeade. We'll go there in the morning and start questioning patrons. Someone must have seen something."

* * *

It was almost a peaceful morning. There was a fresh blanket of snow outside. The fire was roaring. Rosier had made cookies. Harry sighed as voices began to rise.

"What do you mean you 'Won't help'?" Regulus nearly screeched. He slammed his mug onto the table, sending coffee splashing everywhere.

"I mean I will not help you!" Hermione shot back. Harry watched from the couch. Hermione was in that stance that meant she was not backing down. He'd seen it before, once. The night she sent those birds at Ron. Harry wondered if Hermione and Ron were together in this universe.

Hermione had been here for three days, and she still refused to help. She had been appalled by Harry's involvement with the Death Eaters. Regulus tried to convince her that they were risking their lives by committing treason, but she stood resolute.

Harry heard her sniffling quietly late last night. He had watched her for a moment before she turned to him with big teary brown eyes.

_"We can escape, Harry,"_ she had said. He shook his head no. "_Why not. You don't believe them do you? They're monsters Harry – they're sick and they'll kill both of us when they get the chance,"_ her voice was desperate. He shook his head again. It had been what he had been thinking, weeks ago, but he was resigned to his fate now. _"Harry, please – this isn't you."_

_"I have to kill Voldemort, and they know how,"_ he had replied. _"they're the only ones who know. Help us, please._"

She had looked so sad. Her face fell and she stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time._ "I didn't think this was who you were, Harry,"_ she said. She smiled sadly and rolled back over. He had felt helpless. It wasn't him.

He tried to convince himself that night that desperate times called for desperate measures. But he had changed. He was lying if he said he was still the same Harry. Everything and everyone he knew was dead, his home was gone; but here? It was all here too, but it wasn't the same. He had no one to turn too. He had felt wetness on his cheek. He reached his hand up and wiped it off. He could cry later, after Voldemort was dead. And he reminded himself of that now - he could mourn his dead world when they finished this thin.

"Well why not," Regulus asked. He crossed his arms and looked down at Hermione.

Harry knew that wasn't a good sign either. In the short time Harry had know Regulus he had learned the man was stubborn enough to be in Gryffindor himself. Regulus hadn't spoken to Harry for three days after he had told him that. On the third day, Hermione told him he was nursing the ego wound like a Gryffindor and Regulus spoke to Harry later that night. You learn a lot about people when you're cooped up in a house, in the mountains, trying to devise a plan to kill an evil wizard.

"I'm not helping you because you're a prat and a liar."

Of names to call Regulus, Harry could think of a few with a lot more heft. Murderer, hypocrite, coward.

"Liar? Little, Mudblood, I've never lied in my entire life."

Harry tried to push himself further into the couch to disappear. He'd have to wait for Rosier to return and settle this. Rosier was extraordinarily good at mediating disputes. He told Harry he learned the skills while working at his first big law gig, mediating divorce and custody proceedings with wealthy wizards and witches from old families. Apparently, Harry learned, divorce was deceptively common among the traditional pureblood families. Harry ended the conversation when Rosier began to explain how 'accidental death' was the stated reason and how those accidents came about.

"There you go again! Call me a Mudblood one more time and I will hex any ability to procreate right out off of you." Hermione brandished her wand and waved it threatening at Regulus.

"Go ahead, it'll be a blessing. I don't like children. Worse than harpies." He gave Hermione a pointed look.

Hermione ground out a growl and twirled around, stalking toward Harry. She opened her mouth but was speechless. She settled for angry staring and pointing. Harry sighed in resignation. He'd never known his Hermione to be like this.

"Regulus, Hermione has a point. You did kidnap both of us-"

"Only technically,"

"-and you are forcing us to work with you and help you carry out your plan. Not that I don't want to. I want Voldemort dead too. But you can't be calling people you want to help you Mudbloods."

"It's a term of endearment," Regulus said stupidly.

"No it isn't," Hermione snapped. She rounded on Regulus once more, wand poised and ready to hex. A chuckle from the doorway stopped her.

"All these years and you still can't talk to women?" Rosier asked as he dried himself off. He smiled politely at Hermione, who had murder written across her face. "No wonder you're still single."

Hermione smiled a little at that.

"Now, if you two are done, Black, you might wanna take a look at this. I got one too. " Rosier threw a heavy envelope on the table.

Hermione eagerly opened it. She pulled out a thick ivory card embellished with gold calligraphy. Her eyes scanned it quickly, Regulus's own eyes doing the same from beside her, the argument forgotten for now.

Regulus pulled it from her hands and tossed it to Harry.

In his lap it sat. There, staring up at him in swirling gold letters, it read

_The Malfoy Family cordially invites you, Regulus Arcturus Black and Guest,_

_to the Annual Summer Gala on August the 15th_

_held at the Malfoy Manor Estate_

_RSVP by July 1st_

* * *

**AN : Happy reading! I put this chapter up early because I'm going to be so busy for the next two weeks and it's long. I'm going to try to make time to work on the next few chapters, but I'm not promising anything. I'm moving and then going on vacation - but I'll try to get as much done as I can. I quite like the next few chapters coming up :)**

**AN2: messed up the chapter numbers (got rid of one) so this chapter is number 22 instead of 23- if you left a review for Chapter Q (previously chapter 22, now chapter 21), it won't let you review this chapter! Just an FYI :) Feel free to PM me or leave a review on another chapter if you got strong feelings you wanna let out!**


End file.
